


Gaster's Home for Wayward Skeletons

by Rivethart



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Adoption, But not on purpose, Dadster, Fluff, Kidnapping, Okay some angst, Underfell baby bones getting a good home, World Hopping, baby bones, daddy gaster, nothing but fluff, shennanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-09 19:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivethart/pseuds/Rivethart
Summary: It worked.He could travel to other universes now, find one where Monsters had broken the barrier, free his people, show his sons the stars.Well, if he didn't get sidetracked by the angry copy of himself and the two damaged boys watching him with broken eyes.





	1. Chapter 1

It worked.

_ It worked!  _

He couldn’t believe his luck - it worked! No explosions, no sparking wires, no hollering as the fabric of space-time was torn asunder at the very seams, just a small ‘blip’ as the hole opened. It was the size of a very narrow doorway, the kind that led to equally-narrow stairs that see-sawed up to abandoned attics in rickety old houses. Within the machine it looked black as pitch, absorbing any stray bit of light that came too close. Beyond that darkness lay worlds, universes,  _ realities  _ like and unlike his own. 

One of these realities had to have escaped the Underground, or never been imprisoned in the first place. If he found it, he could stabilize the portal and they would all be free. Monsters would finally be able to walk beneath the sun again, finally feel the wind in their fur or feathers or hair or scales again, finally be able to roam the land and play in the soft grass and swim in the lakes and oceans and streams again.

And he would finally,  _ finally,  _ show his sons the real stars.

Gasters very bones trembled at the thought. 

“Wait,” the scientist held his hands out in front of himself. “Calm down old boy. Wait, and do this logically.” He moved to the computer hooked up to the machine, which was shaped like a futuristic one-person sauna and sprouting wires and screens from every available surface. Through the porthole window on the wall he could see the hole to infinity multiplied by nothingness trembling at the edges, resisting the pull that was keeping it open. If he didn’t want to exhaust the CORE, he’d have to work fast.

His phalanges flew across the keyboard attached to the main display, saving the codes scrolling across the screen and initiating the return scan. When prompted to name the return point, he waffled for a moment, before deciding to simply name the universe -  _ this  _ universe - ALPHA. The mainframe beeped in acknowledgement, then whirred for a moment before a small disk drive popped out of a slot beside the keyboard. The scientist delicately removed it and slid it into a matching slot in the electronic watch around his wrist. The chip had a record of this universe's location in the space-time continuum, and would allow him to return home. He could wax poetic all day about the fiddling he had to do with the most complex bits of quantum physics to create the return watch, but he was in a hurry.

Now was the moment of truth. He would see if this machine could truly do what was intended, and if it did, all of monster kind would escape this hell hole and feel the sun upon their forms once more. His hands flew across the keys, commanding the computer to bring up the list of ‘active’ universes. There was a pause, before a list of numbers began flying, neon green slipping past a black background. These were the coordinates he had spent weeks scanning for, spots in the void where  _ something  _ had responded to his magical probing and radio waves. Over fifty numbers flew up the screen, then repeated, and the doctor took it in with calm eyes.

Where to first?

The numbers didn’t mean anything to him - they were simply a pair of coordinates. Nothing more. They didn’t tell anything about the universe they were attached to. Gaster eyed the scrolling numbers, hands hovering over the keys. Until he could gather data on all of them and compile it, one set of coordinates was as good as the next. With a decisive nod he pressed the ‘ENTER’ key, and the roulette of numbers stopped.

**S 6° 6’ 5.9” T -273.15° 3’ 2”**

Gaster eyed the numbers, committing them to memory, then did the intelligent thing and scribbled them down on the clipboard on the nearest desk. It was best to have a hard copy of data, he had found. One never knew when a nervous intern would spill her ramen and short out the mainframe. 

The machine whirred for a moment more, chugging away, then with a loud ‘DING!’ went quiet. The door to the sauna-like machine popped open, and the gaping hole inside slowly began to stabilize. The swirling black void became infected with spots of white, which slowly melded together to form a picture. For a moment Gaster was concerned - had the machine merely created a mirror? The room on the other side of the hole looked exactly like the room he was standing in - metal walls and floors, a desk against the far wall covered in sporadic scribbles, a prototype of the Gaster Blaster settled in a glass container like a paperweight. The only thing not reflected...was...him…

He was looking at his office,  _ in a different timeline!  _

Practically giddy, Gaster took a step forward and prodded at the divide between realities. His hand passed through seamlessly, no resistance halting his touch. It was like sticking his hand through a doorway. A pounding began in his SOUL, gut churning in a mishmash of nerves and excitement. One step - one  _ single  _ step - and he would be creating scientific history. The hand he had stuck through the doorway tightened into a fist, betraying his nerves, and he forced it to relax and drew it back. There was no damage to the bone - no wearing around the holes in his palms, no cracks along his metacarpals. Taking a deep breath (that he didn’t actually need but it felt like the right thing to do), he stood tall and proud and took a long step through the doorway, into the new reality. 

There was a soft ‘blip’ as the doorway closed behind him, leaving him standing in a mirror of his own messy office, the machine nowhere in sight. And stand he did, rigidly, waiting for  _ it  _ to happen. He didn’t know what  _ it  _ was, but surely there would be some consequence to his tampering? Some sign from the universe that it was displeased with him messing with the very core of existence? So he stood stiff as a board in this imposter office and waited, waited, waited.

Nothing.

Nothing happened. 

Slowly, his hands uncurled, his shoulders slumped, and his legs grew wobbly. He had done it.

He had  _ done it! _

All at once the nerves were gone, and he wanted to whoop and holler and jump about, ecstasy racing along his ley lines and agitating his magic. He had done it he had done it oh good stars above it had  _ worked  _ and now they would all be  _ free! _ He would be able to see Asgore and Toriel smile again, he would be able to introduce his sons to the sun, a new generation of monsters would grow up knowing what cool, fresh air smelled and tasted like, so very different from the tepid, metallic atmosphere that surrounded them in the caves. 

Gaster’s magic hummed happily, nearly overwhelming the rest of his senses, and with a start he realized he was hovering a foot above the ground. With a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down, soothing his erratic magic and forcing it to behave. It had been a long time since he’d lost control, though he supposed he could forgive himself just this once.

After his feet were back on the ground, he began examining the room about him in ernest. The desk he had seen was identical to his own, down to the messy chicken-scratch handwriting in common and the more elegant lines in his own font. There were plans similar to his own concerning the dimension-hopping machine, but they had been scribbled out and marked up. Had his alternate given up on piercing the space-time continuum? He’d almost given up a few times as well, but thinking of showing his sons the sky had propelled him on. Perhaps this Gaster didn’t have any children? That would be a large difference, and it most likely wouldn’t be the only one. 

Gaster moved on to looking at the prototype Gaster Blaster. The small, clay head was held in a glass dome, much like his own first attempt at shaping one was. It had the same basic shape - long snout, big eyes, horns on the skull, creating an odd combination between a snake, wolf, and goat skull. He tilted the skull this way and that, examining the lines of detail. There were small differences between this and his own design - sharper, longer teeth, a jaw that opened wider, a heavy brow above the eye sockets that made the skull look menacing and dangerous. It wasn’t something he would want hanging around - this Gaster must have very different tastes. 

“Da - Doctor Gaster?”

His hands tightened on the glass he was holding to keep from dropping the curio in surprise. The door had opened so quietly he hadn’t heard it. Gently, Gaster set the glass case down on the desk, though he didn’t turn around yet. The thin, wavery voice continued after a moment, and he could only imagine the tiny boy it belonged to.

“I - I know you s-s-said not to bother y-you in your office,” the voice began, “But it’s time for Paps medicine, a-a-and you sad I c-c-couldn’t give it to him…” 

Oh stars, every time he stuttered Gaster felt his SOUL break a little more. He’d never heard so much fear in so few sentences before. Slowly, carefully, he turned to face the door, and wanted to cry at what he saw. 

His son - no, not  _ his  _ son, not really, but that didn’t matter at the moment - was clinging to the door jam, and couldn’t have been any taller than Gaster’s knees. Just like Sans, he had large eyes in a round face atop a stocky body. He was wearing a red t-shirt and a pair of black basketball shorts, along with red and yellow sneakers. That was where the similarities ended.

This child's eyes were a bright, vibrant red, and they darted about nervously as Gaster turned around, refusing to look up at him. One of his upper teeth was missing, and the rest were sharp points, resembling a shark more than a skeleton. There were scratches on his bones, both on his face and fingers, and when he squinted in the dim light Gaster could see tell-tale lines of healed breaks along both his fibula and tibula, as well as his radius and ulna. 

When Gaster didn’t speak, the child’s eyes darted up to his face, then back to his sneakers. The little body stiffened, then not-Sans looked up again. “Who’re you?” He demanded, little voice dropping into a growl that was more cute than threatening.

Oh, this was adorable. Just like Sans when he didn’t want to go to bed, or when he wanted to argue advanced mathematics while Gaster was preparing dinner. Was this little skeleton a prodigy like Gaster’s own? It would be something to test in the future. While he was lost in scientific thought, the little not-Sans growled and raised a hand, summoning a few tiny bones that circled above his palm. “Hey, asshole!” He snarled.

Dad mode immediately took over any scientific curiosity Gaster had, and he stiffened, a scowl crossing his face. “Sans!” He snapped without thinking, and the child in the doorway recoiled a bit in surprise. “That kind of language is inappropriate, especially for someone of your age!”

Not-Sans squinted at him for a moment, the attack in his hand wavering. “Who are you?” He demanded again.

Gaster sighed, mentally telling himself off for snapping at the kid. He knelt down on one knee and softened his expression, knowing both could be intimidating when dealing with new people. “I’m sorry.” Those words made the child’s jaw drop, and he wondered if anybody had ever said them to him before. “I am Doctor Wingdings Gaster.”

The child snapped his mouth shut and crossed his arms, attack dispelled. He looked Gaster up and down decisively, then glared at him. “No you’re not.”

“Oh?” Gaster couldn’t help but raise an amused eyebrow at the child's surety.

“I  _ know  _ what my fa - what the doctor looks like,” Not-Sans snapped.

“Let me rephrase that,” Gaster rubbed his chin, “I am  _ A  _ Dr. Gaster, though obviously not the one you know.” 

The little boy snorted  _ obviously  _ under his breath, though he was looking less afraid and more curious now that Gaster wasn’t towering quite so high over him. “What’re you doing here?” He looked Gaster up and down, his expression fairly disgusted, “You don’t belong here.”

The honesty made the scientist chuckle, and he gave the boy a wide smile. “No, I don’t,” he agreed, “But before I go home, i was hoping to talk to the Royal Scientist. Do you know where he is?”

Not-Sans looked around the room one more time, then sighed and nodded. “If he’s not in here, he’s in his lab.” He stepped away from the door. “I’ll show you.” 

“Thank you very much, young man.” Not-Sans gave him another one of those odd, never-been-thanked-before looks. 

“Whatever.” He turned and headed down the hall, forcing Gaster to walk quickly to keep up. The path to his personal lab was identical, but the halls were not. Instead of brilliant, bright metal plating on the walls, polished neatly but slightly dented from too many rolly-chair races down the hall, these were dark, cobwebs hanging from high corners, burn marks and heavy creases and divots littering the surface. The lights were dim and flickering, giving the entire place an aura of despair and unease. 

Not-Sans stopped outside a set of wide double-doors. There was no sign, no windows in the door, nothing to indicate that beyond these metal slabs lay the most important room in the entire lab. The child paused, took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in.”

The voice was terse, uninviting, and annoyed. Even as the doors slid open and allowed the two skeletons to enter, Gaster had a feeling he wouldn’t be very fond of his counterpart. Stepping into the lab, he glanced around, and easily spotted the tall, dark, other-universe version of himself.

This Gaster was all angles and sharp edges, and with the rigid way he held himself he appeared to be more knife than Monster. His lab coat was black, contrasting with the pale gray of his bones and the blood-red turtleneck he wore underneath. Like Gaster, he had two cracks in his face, but while Gasters were smooth and mostly healed, his appeared jagged and painful. His eyelights were a deep blood red, like his sons, and as he turned from his workbench he sneered at them. 

“Hmph. Thank you for bringing me the intruder, Sans. You’re not as worthless as you look.”

Not-Sans recoiled a tiny bit at the sharp tone, but nodded in acceptance of the older skeletons words. Gaster frowned and slid a few inches to the side, partially shielding Not-Sans from his father. “There’s no need to be mean,” he chided, resting a hand on top of Not-Sans skull in a comforting gesture.

Not-Gaster chuckled darkly to himself and turned back to his lab table, where there were several monitors set, showing security footage of the entire lab. “You were correct in your earlier assessment - you  _ do not  _ belong here.” With a jolt, Gaster realized one of the cameras was in Not-Gasters own office - he must have seen and heard everything from before.

Not-Sans shrugged off Gaster’s hand and took a hesitant step forward, keeping his eyes trained on the ground like a whipped dog. “Sir, I’m sorry, b-but Papyrus needs his m-m-medicine,” he stuttered out, curling in on himself to appear smaller. Any of the defiant attitude Gaster had seen earlier was gone.

Not-Gaster sighed, as though put upon by a Herculean task, and pinched the space above his nasal cavity. “Bring him here,” he demanded, “I don’t have time to go off coddling him. If he wants his medicine, he has to come get it.” 

“But his leg is-” 

“I know what his leg is like,” Not-Gaster interrupted, a sneer on his mouth. “He is not a worthless weakling like you, he can survive walking down the hall on a fractured femur. Now,  _ bring him here _ .” 

Sans drew even farther in on himself and stepped back, away from the irate doctor. 

“Yes sir,” he scrambled out of the room before anymore could be said.

Not-Gaster scoffed at his hasty departure. “Children,” he rolled his eyes as he turned his attention to Gaster. “So, you got that infernal machine working, I see.” 

“Yes,” Gaster responded, his dislike for this mirror already cemented enough that he added a little jibe, “It wasn’t hard.” 

Not-Gaster stiffened slightly, then forced his shoulders to relax. He leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms, one brow raised. “Oh? Well, I suppose in a soft universe like yours, there must be plenty of time to twiddle your thumbs with useless inventions.” 

“I wouldn’t call interdimensional travel  _ useless _ ,” Gaster bit back, bristling.

“Has your universe reached the surface?” Not-Gaster’s voice took on a light, mocking tone. When Gaster didn’t immediately answer, he dropped his voice again. “See? Useless.” He waved his hand and summoned several hands, identical to the ghostly bullets Gaster himself used when he needed to juggle more than one task. Not-Gaster turned to his lab table and began to sort through the notes and machine bits he had piled up, dismissing Gaster. 

Gaster had no intention of being dismissed. “Why do you treat them like that?” 

“Who?”

“Your  _ sons _ .”

Not-Gaster made an undignified snorting sound as he turned back to his counterpart, rolling a test tube in his hand. “They are not my sons,” he scoffed, “They are my  _ experiments _ .” He held up one hand, revealing the large, cracked hole in his palm. “They’re yours too, aren’t they?” 

Gaster’s own hands, holes and all, curled into fists. “No,” he bit out, “They are my  _ children _ , never my  _ work _ .” 

“La-de-dah,” Not-Gaster went back to sorting through the paperwork, “Waste-of-talent, useless, do-gooder.” 

Before Gaster could bite out a retort to the sour monster, the doors opened and Not-Sans returned, Not-Papyrus hobbling along beside him. Before, when he’d seen Not-Sans injuries, he’d been furious. Now, he was beyond even that definition of anger.

Not-Papyrus was  _ broken _ . Not just his leg, which was wrapped in a green bandage that was softly glowing with healing magic. Not just his arm, which was wrapped in a cast and held in a sling against his chest. Not just his eye, which was covered with a square of cotton that didn’t completely hide the three claw marks that extended above and below it. 

The way he stood, the way he shuffled his feet, the way he dropped his shoulders to hunch in on himself and appear smaller and less threatening, the way he kept his eyes firmly on the floor and refused to look up - every single move was calculated and careful, never threatening, never defiant. He was leaning heavily on his brother, unable to put weight on his broken leg, though once the two Gaster’s looked at him he tried to stand on his own, tried not to appear  _ weak _ , as Not-Gaster scoffed at him.

“Worthless,” he muttered under his breath, turning back to his lab bench, and Not-Papyrus wilted, pulling farther into himself. He stepped away from Not-Sans, trying to straighten up and look proud and sure, but he wobbled. Gaster acted on instinct, darting forward and catching the child ( _ child! _ \- God, he couldn’t be more than four or five) before he fell.

Not-Papyrus made a startled noise but grabbed at Gaster’s labcoat on instinct, holding tightly as the scientist kept him steady. He didn’t pick the child up, but kneeled beside him, one hand on his back, the other hovering uncertainly beside him. 

The broken skeleton glanced up at him with a wide, panicked eye, then realized what had happened. Gaster had kept him from falling - kept him from being hurt further. This weird Gaster was helping him stand, and was looking down at him in worry, and wasn’t calling him weak or stupid. The rational part of his mind told him to take a deep breath and calm himself - this was a weird Gaster, not his own fa - creator, and he had to be cool and collected and unaffected, like his creator wanted. The child-like part of his mind won out.

He burst into tears, and once more Gaster’s father mode kicked into high gear. Careful of the injuries, he scooped the child into his arms, holding the trembling child close to his chest, one arm beneath his femurs, the other patting his back. Not-Papyrus began bawling even harder at not being rejected, clinging to this new Gaster with the arm not wrapped in a cast. Beside them, Not-Sans jerked in his spot, as though wanting to protect his brother from the threat, but paused when said brother wasn’t hurt.

“Oh, don’t do that!” Not-Gaster snarled, striding across the room with long, dramatic steps. “If you give it contact, it will become used to it and demand more!” He stopped a few feet away from the three skeletons and crossed his arms, glaring daggers at them. “You’ve overstayed your welcome. Go back to your ‘sunshine and rainbows’ universe, and leave us well enough alone!”

Gaster slowly stood, still cradling Not-Papyrus in his arms, and noticed Not-Sans sidle a bit closer. He shifted the sniffling child so he was holding him in one arm, and reached down to rest a hand on Not-Sans head. The older child reached out and grabbed tight to the material of his pants. 

How affection-starved were these children, to cling to desperately to the first stranger to show them kindness? They’d obviously been deprived of kind words, soft touches, gentle smiles, and more. This universes Gaster was as cruel as he was caring, and loathsome as he was loving, as evil as he was good. 

Not-Papyrus sniffled and, acting on instinct that had long been denied him, snuggled his face into the crook of Gaster’s neck, hiding from Not-Gaster’s piercing glare. At his side Not-Sans tightened his grip on his pant leg, shuffling half-a-step closer. These two boys had seen something new, something good in him, and they didn’t want to let it go. 

“You’re correct,” when Gaster spoke, it was in a kind, warm voice. Not-Gaster raised a brow-bone, caution in his eyelights, “I have most definitely overstayed my welcome. I will be going now.” He nudged Not-Sans gently with his leg, and the child almost let go, until he pushed his head against the fabric of his pants. Not-Sans latched onto his leg, holding as tight as he could. Once Not-Sans was firmly attached Gaster brought up his arm - the one adorned with the fancy watch he had created only days ago - and, using the hand of the arm supporting Not-Papyrus, hit the RETURN button.

“What are you-WAIT!” Not-Gaster bellowed, lunging forward, a sharpened bone bullet in hand, but it was too late. There was a crackle of electricity and a soft little ‘blip’ as the door opened, and the three were gone. 

* * *

Sans and Papyrus were worried. Their father had been in his office when the whole lab had shook, swinging the floor and causing the lights to flicker. When Sans went to check on him, he found the door locked, leaving him with nothing to do but return to the lab and tell his baby brother everything was fine.

Papyrus wasn’t really a baby, not anymore. He was four years old (four and a  _ quarter _ , Sans! The quarter is very important! He would also shout) and brilliant at understanding patterns, shapes, and complex mechanical puzzles. His reading, however, was taking a bit longer to sink in, so Sans spent every day after school working with his little bro until their dad was ready to go home. Their father had even set up a small study table in the corner of his private lab, complete with a short table, chairs, paper, pencils, and every color of crayon he could either scrounge up from the dump or create in his kitchen. There was also a stack of books of varying difficulty, which Papyrus was slowly working his way through.

“Did you find daddy?” Papyrus asked as soon as Sans entered the lab, turning around in his chair to stare at his big brother with large, thin eyes. 

“Dad’s working in his office, Paps.” Sans answered, though he wasn’t sure if that was completely true. 

“But he is alright?” Papyrus demanded, swaying back and forth in the chair and tapping his fingers nervously.

“As far as I could tell,” the older boy nodded easily, and his brother gave him a squinty look before brightening up.

“Okay, brother! I trust you!” He chirped, then turned back to the book they had been working through. “Come on, Sans, I want to read this to you!”

“I’m coming, bro.” Sans chuckled, and had just taken a step into the room when a shock ran through his bones, and he leapt forward, away from a loud crackling that seemed to tear into the very fabric of the room itself. Papyrus cried in shock at whatever he was seeing and jumped from his chair, hiding behind t. Sans stumbled and fell, quickly rolling over to look at what had happened in the doorway.

Gaster was there, holding two - well, they looked like children. Sans stared at the bundle of bones clinging to Gaster’s pant leg, who glared right back, his face an eerie mirror that made him curious and uncomfortable at the same time. The other child continued to cling to Gaster like a monkey, face hidden, but Sans had read his father's notes, seen his father's plans. He bet anything that if the child turned his head, he would look amazingly like Papyrus. 

“Dad?” He asked cautiously, when Gaster didn’t move for a moment. The adults jittering eyelights landed on him, and immediately began to settle.

“Sans,” he acknowledged softly, his shoulders slumping a bit as an unseen weight lifted. “Where is - ah, Papyrus, there you are.” The younger brother had toddled to Sans side and was staring at his father with wide eyes.

“Who’re those?” He asked, pointing at the two children Gaster was clutching. 

“Ah, they are, um - new bro - friends.” Gaster patted the Sans-Copy on the head and gently nudged him to the side. The child let go as if burnt, blushing wildly, but Gaster kept his hand on his head, rubbing gentle, soothing circles that slowly relaxed the kid. “New friends.”

Sans, brilliant as he was, immediately saw what his father had. The two were beaten, bruised, obviously from a bad situation, and more than that, they  _ were  _ him. Him and Papyrus. Sans-Copy and Papyrus-Copy (they would need new names - Sans was attached to his and Papyrus wouldn’t fit into any other name, in his opinion) were from another world, a  _ bad  _ one, and his father had decided to save them.

“Looks like new  _ brothers  _ to me,” he drawled, meeting Sans-Copy’s eyes. The other boy blushed and looked at his feet, making Gaster’s hand still. 

“I do not want to push them, Sans,” Gaster chided kindly, before his legs gave out. He fell back against the closed lab doors with a huff and slid down to sit on his tailbone. “Goodness. That took a bit more out of me than I thought.” He gave his son a strained smile, then glanced at Sans-Copy, who was wearing an expression of worry that was identical to the one Sans had. “I am fine, just tired.”

“Brothers?” Papyrus had frozen at the word, but he very quickly began to beam, bouncing on his feet. “Daddy! I did not know you were pregnant!” He crowed, then dashed forward and threw his arms around Sans-Copy. “Hello new brother!” The copy went rigid, eyes wide in shock, and Sans wondered for a moment if he would lash out or push Papyrus away. After a moment of processing, however, the Sans-Copy gave Papyrus a gentle pat on the head.

“Uh...hey?” He tried. Papyrus bounced back, beaming, then scrambled over to his father. Gaster had gently pried the Papyrus-Copy from his shoulder and settled him in his lap. The badly-injured child was gazing around in wonder, though his expression was still guarded and unsure. There were red tear-tracks on his face, and when he saw the new Papyrus coming, he flinched back.

Papyrus paused, then slowed his approach and spoke in a quiet, gentle voice, “Hello new brother. Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you!” He crouched in front of his father and reached out to gently take his copy’s hand. “I am Papyrus, and this is my brother, Sans. And don’t worry,” he glanced up at his exhausted father and beamed, “our daddy will take good care of you!” 

Papyrus-Copy slowly craned his neck to look up at Gaster, a question in his eyes. Quietly - oh so quietly, like he’d been taught - he asked, “Daddy?”

Gaster sighed but smiled, gently running a hand along Papyrus-Copy’s back. “Yes,” he looked at the two boys from the other universe. “I’ll be your father, if you want.” Papyrus beamed, and Papyrus-Copy began to sniffle with happy tears as he leaned against Gaster, grasping the front of his lab coat in a grip as tight as iron. Papyrus patted his new brothers back as he cried.

“Welp, guess that makes us bros.” Sans had ambled over to his copy, grinning widely at the slightly-smaller boy. He stuck his hand out, “I’m Sans, your new big brother.”

Sans-Copy snorted. “I’m the big brother,” he bit out, his voice a bit rougher and deeper. He reached out and took the offered hand, which immediately let out a long, wet, immature sound. The two Sans stared at each other, and slowly identical smiles crept across their faces. They burst into delighted, nearly-identical laughter, leaning in to each other as it overtook them. 

Gaster sighed and leaned back against the lab doors, shifting Papyrus-Copy to one leg so he could coax Papyrus onto the other, letting the two sit with their backs to his chest, side by side. He hadn’t expected this when he opened the rift - finding two abused boys so much like his own, and whisking them away to join his family without asking them or considering the ramifications. He now had two more sons, two more little skeletons in the house. Goodness, two more boys to watch, two more boys to teach, two more boys to feed and clothe and care for…

Despite the enormity of what had happened, Gaster couldn’t find himself upset at the idea.

In fact, he was ecstatic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to donate a cup of coffee to our poor, tired Papa Gaster, I have a Kofi account here: [ Coffee for Tired Skeletons Trying to Parent ](https://ko-fi.com/rivethart)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Nothing but fluff. And maybe just a pinch of foreshadowing...

The house wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination (and stretch the imagination it did, thanks to Gaster’s mastery over the sciences of space), but it was large enough for their little family of ~~three~~ five. Two bedrooms upstairs, a cozy kitchens and living room downstairs, a bath shanghaied into the space beneath the stairs with a few magical extension spells, and an unfinished basement he was thinking of turning into an office. With four boys now, perhaps he should turn it into a playroom instead…

Not to say the boys didn't have room to play. As he unlocked the front door and ushered the four baby-bones into the house, Not-Sans and Not-Papyrus had to stop and gawp at the living room. There were blocks, balls, action figures, books, video cassettes, a cardboard play-kitchen with plastic food, a pile of rubix cubes in various states of solution, and a child-sized table covered with coloring things. The couch was barely visible beneath the blanket fort Papyrus had built the night before, and the bottom half of the walls were spackled with pictures that ranged from family portraits to The Proud Prominent Paramount Puissant Papyrus defeating dragons and rescuing boney damsels from towers. In some of the pictures the dashing skeleton hero had hair, in others muscles, and in a majority, both.

“Isn’t it great?” Papyrus grabbed Not-Sans hand and pulled him into the house. Gaster was carrying Not-Papyrus, who really shouldn’t have been walking around on his broken leg, and they stepped in after Sans, who was grinning and watching the whirlwind that was his little brother give his _new_ little brother a tour.

“-and these are my knights, Mr. Knight and Mrs. Knight! They’re in love with each other but they don’t know it yet, because they have helmets on and can’t see each other blush! Alphys says that’s how you know people are in love - they blush a lot around each other! They’ll figure it out someday.” Papyrus carefully set Mr. & Mrs. Knight down beside the cardboard house he had built for them. “Now, this is my kitchen! Well, it’s mine and Sans, but he’s too lazy to cook anything, so I’m the only one who uses it! Nyeh-heh-heh! I will teach you all of my culinary secrets, like how to smash the tomatoes!” Papyrus held up the plastic tomato, which was heavily dented and looked ready for the recycling bin. “Now, onto the spaghetti-”

“You’ll have to save the cooking lesson for another time, Papyrus,” Gaster chided gently once he was certain the door was properly closed and locked behind him. With grace that came from being a long-legged father of ~~two~~ _four_ , he crossed the room and settled Not-Papyrus into a seat at the play table. “All four of you need a bath, and then it’s bedtime.”

“But I’m not _tired_!” Papyrus crossed his arms and stomped his foot, which only made his father smile.

“You may no be, but they are. Surely you don’t want your new brothers sleeping all alone in a new place tonight?” He motioned Sans over, and the lazy-bones happily shuffled to one of the empty seats and slumped in it.

“Gasp! You are correct!” Papyrus seized Not-Sans arm (he had been quietly following and listening to the bundle of energy, nodding when he needed to as his eye lights roamed over the messy room) and dragged him over to the table. Not-Sans growled at the man-handling, but Papyrus gave him a bright, trusting, hopeful look, and he resigned himself to being dragged.

As the babybones settled themselves at the table, Gaster disappeared into the kitchen, then reappeared with a package of juice boxes and a box of animal crackers. “Here we are. You four have a snack, while I run the bath.” He handed them each a juice box and passed Sans the animal crackers, then vanished through the door under the stairs to run the bath.  Sans would bet all the ketchup packets in his pockets that the scientist was also have a private freak-out over the science he had broken today. Gaster tended to do that when no-one was looking.

So while Gaster was out of the room freaking out, Sans took in the new ‘brothers.’ The two were clad in ragged clothing - Not-Papyrus in a gray hospital gown that was laced up tight in the back, Not-Sans in too-long sweatpants and a red t-shirt. Both bore scars he’d never seen before, and it almost looked like something had been carved into their right ulnas. He couldn’t get a good enough look to tell what it said, and when Not-Sans noticed him looking he tried to hide his arm. Taking the hint Sans went back to observing them less obtrusively.

Beside him, Papyrus happily sucked on his juice box, kicking his legs back and forth as he considered his new brothers. The one that looked like Sans was turning an animal cookie over in his hands - it was shaped like a butterfly, the kind that lived in Waterfall, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with it. Beside him, his new best friend who was also named Papyrus was examining the juice box with great scrutiny. It was very odd - this new Papyrus was all sharp and angled.

“Edgy!” Papyrus blurted, startling his copy, who had just taken the plastic-wrapped straw off the back of the box. “You’re all edgy!”

“I...am?” He asked, looking down at himself.

“We should call you Edge!”

“But...but my name is Papyrus?”

“So is mine!” Papyrus was standing on his seat by now, wiggling as he leaned across the table to beam at his counterpart. “And it’ll be confusing if we’re both Papyrus! So I’ll be Papyrus, and you be Edge, and then we can talk without being confused!”

Edge tapped his mouth with the finger not attached to his broken arm, thinking hard. He traced his sharp teeth, wincing when he pricked his finger on the tip of his canine. Papyrus was right, he _was_ edgy…

“Okay!” He agreed, and went back to trying to figure out the puzzle that was his juicebox.

Beside him, the dark Sans chuckled and finally chomped down on his cracker. “What about me, pipsqueak?” He asked, a challenge in his voice as he looked at the younger child.

“Oh, that’s easy!” Papyrus had eased back into his seat at Sans insistence and was munching on a fish-shaped cracker. “You’re Red!”

A beat of silence, before he sputtered in laughter, spraying crumbs of the cracker he’d just eaten across the table. “Hah! You ain’t wrong!” He brushed crumbs off his jacket, still chuckling in his rough, deep voice.

Beside him, Edge reached out and tugged on his sleeve. “I like it,” he said quietly, scooting a bit closer to his big brother. Edge hadn’t seen Red smile so much in nearly a year, ever since the tests started.

“Heh, I like yours too, kiddo.” Red rested a hand on his brothers skull, grinning at the pair across the table. “Damn, did we ever luck out.”

While Edge nodded in agreement, Sans straightened up a bit, and Papyrus let out a loud, dramatic gasp. “You, you can’t say that!” He hissed, glancing at the closed door to the bathroom, then back at Red. “It’s a BAD word!”

Red raised a brow-bone. “What is?”

“You - you know, that word you just said!” Papyrus looked around, as though waiting for an adult to swoop out of the shadows and give them all time out.

“Luck?” Red guessed, and Papyrus shook his head rapidly. “We? Out? Ever? Help me out here, kiddo, I dunno what this universe considers a bad word.” His eyelights flicked to Sans, who looked torn between amusement and annoyance, and grinned wider.

Papyrus pouted at the older skeleton. “The - the ‘D’ word!”

“Did?”

“Nyeh!” WIth an angry huff, Papyrus threw the rest of his fish at Red, hitting him in the chest. The new skeleton cracked up, cackling with his head thrown back. Beside him, Sans snorted, his own mirth overcoming his annoyance. Papyrus turned and pouted at him, betrayed.

“It is not funny, brother! Bad words are called _bad_ for a reason! They are bad to say!”

“Aw, c’mon, little bro,” Red picked up the remains of the fish and tapped it against his teeth. “What’s a little profanity between bros?” He winked and devoured the rest of the poor, innocent fish cracker.

Sans caved and rubbed Papyrus’s head. “Nah, my bro’s right. If dad hears that, he’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

“It taste bad,” Papyrus whispered mournfully, “Like bubble bath and disappointment.”

Edge, who had finally gotten his straw in the juice box, pulled it from his mouth and looked up at his big brother with wide eyes. “No more swearing,” he told Red sternly.

“Heh, sure thing, bro.” The older skeleton immediately agreed, “Anything for you.”

“Don’t worry, Edgy-me!” Papyrus once again lunged across the table, tiptoe on his chair, and grabbed Edge’s hand, “We can keep an eye on Red together!”

The youngest of the four beamed, his red eyes bright with determination. “Together!” He agreed in his squeaky voice. The two giggled, ‘nyeh’s!’ mingling in the air, as their proud big brothers looked on. Papyrus shifted his seat to beside Edge and pulled out a pile of papers and his big box of crayons. Edge watched curiously, sipping his juice box, as Papyrus explained the intricacies of properly coloring. Sans and Red watched their little brothers with pride, grinning when Edge hesitantly accepted a red crayon and began marking on a sheet of paper, following Papyrus’s example.

The four children sat in contentment for a long while, the elder two happy to watch the younger two explore the incredible world of crayon drawings. It was just as Papyrus was showing Edge how to trace an animal cracker, then eat it while filling in the details, that the door to the bathroom swung open. Gaster appeared, the sleeves of his lab coat (which he had forgotten to remove) soaked and slightly bubbly. He smiled at the boys and reached up to adjust his classes, accidently leaving a scar of soap across his cheek.

“Daddy!” Papyrus bounced out of his seat and across the room. “Look, look, I taught Edge to color!”

The scientist scooped his second-youngest into his arms. “Did you now?” He asked, settling Papyrus on one hip before striding across the room to the table. “Wow! Is that a giraffe?” Edge, who was just coloring in the hooves with a bright blue crayon, shyly nodded. Gaster beamed and ran a hand over his cranium. “It’s very good, Papyrus.”

In his arms, Papyrus the first smacked his father on the chest with an open palm. “ _I’m_ Papyrus,” he whined, “That’s _Edge_!”

“Oh?” Gaster glanced at the younger child. “Do you like the name Edge?” He asked, quirking a brow, a smile on his lips despite the oddity of the name. Edge gave a shy nod, picking at his cast and focusing on his giraffe. “Does your brother have a new name?”

“He’s Red!” Papyrus declared proudly.

“Edge and Red, hm? Red and Edge.” Gaster glanced between the two, smiling softly. “I like those names very much.”

“ _I_ came up with them! Nyeh-heh-heh! The Great Papyrus is the greatest of brothers!”

“You certainly are. Now then, it is bath time.”

Both Red and Edge winced at that declaration, though neither bolted or whined. They knew what happened when they showed fear. Sans, picking up on their discomfort, flashed them a confused look but didn’t comment. Whatever bath time had been like in their previous world, it wouldn’t be like that here.

“Are there bubbles?” Papyrus asked, eyes gleaming hopefully.

Gaster put on a ridiculously affronted look, tilting his chin up a bit. “Good sir, do I look like the sort of monster to forget the _bubbles_?” He asked, voice taking on a wealthy affluence. Papyrus giggled and patted his cheek.

“No daddy! To the bubbles!”

“To the bubbles!” Gaster echoed, leaning down to catch Edge and pull him into his other arm. The broken babybones giggled softly at Papyrus exuberance, though his expression was still strained. Red was immediately up and moving, unwilling to be away from his brother in this weird new universe. Sans brought up the rear of the little parade as they marched past the toys and into the bathroom.

It really was a marvel of magical engineering. Blue tiled floors, matching wallpaper, a bright round ceiling light, and more than enough room for the five of them. Gaster had even splurged a bit when building it and had gotten a large, square tub that could be used as a jacuzzi if the right buttons were pressed. Since skeletons were all bones, it was a bit hard keeping clean - cracks and divots in the bone often filled with dirt, and he sometimes had to scrub out his joints with a toothbrush when oil got in them - but the undulating water from the jacuzzi made it simple. Not to mention there was nothing better than a hot bath, a glass of wine, and a good book after a long, hard day of sciencing.

Right now the jacuzzi was off, and the tub was half-way full and topped with a thick layer of bubbles. Toy boats and squeaky animals floated among the bubbles, creating a sea of possibilities for the boys. Papyrus immediately wiggled, pulling off his shirt before he had even put his feet on the ground.

“Careful, Papyrus,” Gaster chided, summoning a pair of his ghostly purple hands to steady the child. “I don’t want you falling.”

“Yes Daddy!” Despite his words, Papyrus hopped dangerously on one foot to get his pants and socks off, before scrambling up the side and practically throwing himself in the tub. His father rolled his eyes and dismissed the hands, focusing instead on Sans and Red.

“In you go, boys,” he sat Edge down on the counter beside the sink and began untying the sling that was holding up his broken arm. Sans immediately began to strip, dropping his dirty clothes on the floor beside the hamper before climbing in himself. The second he was settled in one corner of the tub, sitting and relaxing back against the side, Papyrus was on him, building a bubble crown on his skull. Sans chuckled and reclined even further, practically melting into the warm water.

Red, meanwhile, hadn’t moved. He had his hands in his short pockets and was glaring at the water with a venom normally reserved for really disgusting bugs, or people who threatened Papyrus. He knew what a bath was - he’d had plenty of them, when his bones got to dingy and bloody to see properly. They were cold, quick, and always involved a scratchy scrub-brush made of steel wool that the Doctor insisted worked well on getting dirt out of the cracks and crevices of his bones. Cracks and crevices _he_ had created. Without realizing it his hands left his pockets, and he gripped himself hard, sweat beginning to bead along his skull.

Papyrus, having finished his masterpiece on Sans (which included a beard and a twirly mustache) turned to look at his newest big brother, only to find him looking rather distressed. “Red?” He shuffled to the edge of the tub. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, pipsqueak,” he grunted, running a hand over his head, claws raking against the bone. “Just never been a fan of baths.”

“Worried you’re gonna have a _bath_ time?” Sans asked, giving his counterpart a cheerful wink. Red grinned but didn’t laugh, his eyes still on the soapy water.

“But why don’t you like baths?” Papyrus ignored their punnery and stood so he could look at Red properly, it was a deep tub, but raised a bit off the ground, and it allowed him to peer over the edge and into the taller skeletons sockets. “They’re warm and fun and look, look, we have so many bubbles!” He picked up a handful of the bubbles and held it out to Red. “See? Bathtime is fun!”

“He’s right,” Sans wiped some bubbles out of his socket - the crown Papyrus had made him was melting. “It would really _suds_ if you missed out.”

“Sans! That wasn’t even a _good_ pun!” Papyrus protested, gently splashing some water at his unapologetic brother.

“Yeah,” Red agreed, creeping closer to the edge of the tub and peering down at the water. “That one was really a _wash!_ ”

“NYEH! NO PUNNING DURING BATHTIME!” Papyrus grabbed at Red and began wrestling his shirt off. The skeleton was cackling but didn’t fight it, even lifting his arms to the child could yank it off more easily.

“Easy there, Paps,” Sans was eyeing his counterparts ribcage and shoulders, which were heavily marked with scars and cuts scabbed over with magic. It made his magic turn, the idea someone could hurt a child - a kid like _him_ \- like that. He mentally shook himself and turned his gaze to Red’s face, grin bordering on evil. “We _punderstand_.”

While Papyrus proceeded to yell at his cackling older brothers, Gaster helped the youngest get undressed. Edge, who was used to the clinical way the Doctor would treat them, which included physicals every few weeks, wasn’t embarrassed as the hospital gown was carefully slid from his shoulders, though the idea of this new, nice Gaster seeing all his injuries made him a bit uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure why. New Gaster - _Daddy_ , he reminded himself - had paled upon seeing the lines and scars that crisscrossed his bones, but he didn’t say anything.

Gaster had unwrapped the cast on his arm and was examining the break along his ulna with a critical eye. “The break isn’t complex,” he muttered to himself, reaching into the cabinet below the sink. He pulled out a white box with a green SOUL stenciled on the front. He popped it open and pulled out a small, wrapped piece of Monster Candy. “Here, let’s see what this can do for that arm while I take a look at your leg.” He carefully pulled off the wrapper and handed it to the child.

Edge obediently popped the candy into his mouth. The Doctor would sometimes give them healing food when they were really, really hurt, but he’d never had a piece of candy with healing magic before. It crackled in his jaw and sent waves of warmth rolling down his bones. The throbbing pain that was a constant presence in his bones and joints dimmed, then vanished, and even the sharp pains from his arm began to dull. He reached up and pressed a hand to the square of gauze over his eye. Doctor had gotten mad and struck him across the face, leaving three deep marks across his eye. Red had told him it was cool - it made him look like a pirate! - but the Doctor made him keep the socket covered, just in case there was any injury to what he called the ‘magic matrix’ that supported their sight. Maybe this new Daddy could take it off and fix his eye?

Said new daddy was kneeling now, carefully unwrapping his broken leg and eyeing the bandage, which was still pulsing with weak healing energy. He set it aside and examined the child's fibula and tibia, which had at one point been crushed near to powder. The shards were suspended in magic, and knitting together slowly. It took a significant amount of self-control to keep Gaster from going back to the lab, back to his machine, and skipping through the portal to cheerfully _kill_ his alternate. How any monster could do this to a child, he just couldn’t understand. Then, to pretend to cure it with a weak healing spell that wouldn't do more than keep it from deteriorating?

As he watched and fumed, the monster candy did it’s work, and the bone shards began to reform into something resembling a leg once again. By the time the candy had disappeared, Edge’s arm was whole, and his leg had been significantly repaired. There were still cracks, and it would be brittle and vulnerable for the next few months, but Edge would be able to put his weight on it for short periods of time, and with a crutch (or a helpful brother) would be able to walk on it.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Edge marveled, flexing his leg, then his arm, then his uninjured arm and leg. “Wow.”

“Yes, well, that’s what proper healing can do,” Gaster grumbled, standing once more. He reached out - slowly, so Edge could see what he was doing - and carefully pulled the square of gauze from the skeletons eye socket. “There we are. Can you see with that eye?” Obligingly, a small but bright red pip lit up the skeletons eye.

“Yes!” Edge blinked, his vision a bit blurry after being one-eyed for the past few weeks, and grinned widely. “You fixed me!”

“I just healed you,” Gaster corrected gently, diving back into the first-aid kit and pulling out a roll of waterproof bandages. “Now then, let's get you wrapped up and you can join your brothers in the bath.”

By the time Edge was set in the water between Papyrus and Sans, Red had also joined them. He’d been stiff as a branch at first, but as soon as the warm water hit his bones he’d relaxed, mimicking Sans and sinking into one corner, nearly submerging himself in the blissful warmth. Sans had joked about it being a good thing they didn’t need to breath, but Red had been enjoying the alien feeling of _warm water_ too much to quip back. Papyrus began shifting between the two, building bubble towers on their heads or creating masterpiece mustaches on their face. Neither of the brothers commented on the scars Red had, or the barcode scored into his bone.

With all four in the tub, Gaster rolled up his sleeves and began scrubbing. Papyrus was first, then Sans, since they were the least dirty. Once they were clean he dried them off and sent them to get in clean pajamas, and to bring down a set of PJs for each of their new brothers. Papyrus saluted and took off up the stairs - they could hear him pounding away as he ascended - while Sans simply gave a lazy wave and slumped after him, looking uncomfortable with no pockets to put his hands in.

That left Gaster to the hard work. He spent half-an-hour scrubbing both Red and Edge, careful to use the softest wash cloth he could find as he rubbed dirt, marrow, and who knows what else from their bones. (Some of it looked like dust - _Monster Dust_ \- but he refused to acknowledge such a ridiculous, plausible, thought. Red had been reduced to a limp noodle by the warm water and didn’t protest. Gaster wanted to take that as a good sign - a sign of Red beginning to trust him - but knew it was more likely a combination of exhaustion and of being trained not to disobey an adult. As soon as he was clean Gaster wrapped him in a fluffy towel, and Red flumped down on the tiles beside the bath to watch his little brother. Sans and Papyrus had each brought a pair of pajamas (red flannel ones for Red, which Sans had delivered with a too-large grin, and a dinosaur onesie for Edge, who had stared at Papyrus’ matching pajamas in awe and delight), but Red made no move to change. Gaster didn’t blame him - if he’d been through what they had, he wouldn’t want to let his brother out of his sight either.

Edge relished the physical contact that came with the gentle washing and leaned into Gaster’s hand as he did it, sockets closed and creating a small purring noise common to happy skeletons by vibrating his hyoid bone. By the time Gaster deemed him clean enough, the tiny skeleton was fast asleep. With soft, slow movement Gaster pulled him out of the bath, patted him dry, and dressed him in the dinosaur onesie. It had felt spikes down the back and a hood with a dinosaur face that could be pulled up. His was dark red, while the one Papyrus wore was bright orange. This red one had been Sans, but he’d outgrown it years ago. It fit Edge perfectly.

Seeing his brother was asleep, Red finally rolled out of his towel and pulled on the pajamas Sans had brought him. They were warm and soft, and he nearly started purring himself. He ran his hands over the sleeves and, to his delight, found a pocket sewn into the front, perfect for his hands to rest in. Without realizing it his eyelids began to droop, and he swayed where he stood.

“Bedtime for all of us, I believe.” Gaster shifted Edge to rest in the crook of one arm and plucked Red from the ground with the other, holding both close and tight. He summoned a hand bullet, which pulled out the drain of the tub and began gathering the clothing, which it threw in the hamper. Leaving the cleaning hand to it’s work, Gaster swept from the bathroom and up the stairs, to the first door in the hall.

The downstairs may have been messy, but the boys bedroom was bordering on neat. There were a few Sans-sized clothes strewn around, and some of Papyrus’s action figures were in mid-battle on the play rug, but other than that it was clean. The boys themselves were curled up together on the bottom bunk of their bunk bed. The two were still small enough that they could cuddle on one mattress, but if Papyrus kept growing the way he was, Gaster was sure they would be needing both beds by the early teenage years.

Papyrus and Sans had been busy while he bathed the other two. They had taken all the pillows and blankets from the top bunk and created a nest in the bottom. The bed was shoved in the corner in order to give the boys as much playtime as possible, and Papyrus had taken advantage of that and turned it into a nest, with more than enough room for all four of them. He also had a book on his lap - one of his favorites. Peek-a-Boo With Fluffy Bunny. Gaster almost grimaced - he wasn’t sure if he was up for doing all the voices tonight, but at the same time he knew he would anyway, because saying no to Papyrus was all but impossible.

“It looks like you have every pillow in the house here, boys,” he teased as he crossed the room and set Red gently in the middle of the nest. The child stared at the mattress and pillows under him, before carefully poking one with a finger. He marveled at the way the mattress dipped, and pressed his whole hand against it. Without preamble he belly-flopped onto the blanket, stretching out his arms and melting into the fabric, trying to become one with this alien softness. Papyrus giggled at the funny behavior, but Sans had a strained, knowing smile on his face that made him look far too old.

Edge was gently settled in the corner where the walls met, and he immediately grabbed the nearest pillow and nestled into it, still out like a light. Sans, who was closest after Gaster straightened back up, carefully tucked a blanket around the babybones before leaning back against his own pillow. Papyrus beamed at his counterpart, then looked up at his father with bright, sparkling eyes and a slight pout on his teeth.

“Story?” He asked, holding up the book. Red lifted his head, looking mildly interested but not willing to leave the comfort of the bed.

“Story,” Gaster agreed with a slight sigh but a smile, pulling over the desk chair so he could sit comfortable as he read. Papyrus gave a quiet cheer before flopping on his stomach beside Red. The older skeleton rolled on his side and pulled Papyrus back into his chest, so they were both facing Gaster, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Sans sat back beside Edge, grinning, as their father began the all-too-familiar story.

As soon as he was done, voice sore but SOUL light, Red and Papyrus were both fast asleep, cuddling together in a mess of blankets. Edge was still snoring, and Sans had snuck a giraffe plush into his arms. He was sleep-gnawing on one of the ears and making happy little noises as he did so. Sans, surprisingly, was still awake, eyelights far away. Gaster set the book down and reached out to rest a hand on his eldest sons skull.

“Sans, are you not tired?”

His eye pips brightened, and Sans gave his father a tired smile. “Nah, I’m _dead_ tired,” he joked.

“Mmhmm. Then why are you still awake?” Gaster gave him the no-nonsense look that told Sans to tread carefully if he wanted to lie. The child’s eyes darted to the side, and Gaster sighed. “Come now, what has you upset?”

“That obvious, huh?” Sans sighed and looked at his lap, where his hands were resting. He curled is fingers into fists, then released, then curled again. “Dad, these two - Red and Edge - they’re us, right?”

“Correct,” Gaster nodded.

“Right,” Sans glanced at the two, both blissfully asleep, both using a bed in for what was presumably the first time of their lives. “If there’s one universe out there, there’s gotta be more. And - and dad, what if, out there, there’s more of us like - like them?”

Bless this child, for always thinking of others, though that had been Gaster’s first thought as well. He leaned forward and pressed his teeth against Sans’ forehead, radiating love and pride for his oldest little boy.

“Then we will help them.” He reassured his son. “No child will be left to suffer while I, Wing Dings Gaster, draw breath. I promise you, Sans.”

“Heh. Thanks dad.” Sans reached up and wrapped his arms around his father in a tight hug. Gaster hugged him back, and it wasn’t until a minute had passed that he realized his son had fallen asleep in his arms, fears allayed by his father’s promise.

If only they knew how far that promise would take them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so many positive comments on this story, I simply had to write more! That, and OMG, the idea of Gaster just going around collecting baby skeletons it amazing. Next up: I'm not telling! But it will be MAGNIFICENT!
> 
> Please leave a comment with any constructive criticism you may have! I'm always looking to improve!
> 
> If you would like to donate a cup of coffee to our poor, tired Papa Gaster, I have a Kofi account here: [ Coffee for Tired Skeletons Trying to Parent ](https://ko-fi.com/rivethart)
> 
> Cheers, you lovely peoples!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pair of newcomers, and an interesting story that accompanies them...

Asgore wasn’t sure whether to laugh or sigh at the sight of his normally-unflappable Royal Scientist struggling to keep his composure as he stood in the doorway of the throne room, trying to appear calm and collected despite being soaking wet and juggling an extremely active baby-bones in his arms. The baby was clad in a blue onesie, and was doing his best to reach up and snatch the glasses right off the Doctors face, giggling all the while. Beside him stood another young skeleton with a narrow face and deep shadows beneath his sockets. His shoulders were slumped, and he had his hands in the pocket of a too-big orange hoodie, but his gaze darted about, and there was an unnatural stiffness to his slouch.

The babybones finally snatched the glasses from the doctors face and immediately began to gnaw on the frames, babbling happily through his rounded teeth. The older child snorted in laughter as Gaster blinked owlishly down at the mischievous babybones. He reached up and took the infant into his own arms, prying the glasses out of chubby baby fingers and handing them back to the doctor. The baby began to sniffle, but his brother slid the drawstring of his hoodie into his mouth, and with a happy trill the infant began rolling it between his teeth. 

Asgore was not surprised to see two new babybones accompanying his royal scientist. Six months ago he’d been introduced to the brothers Red and Edge, who were the spitting images of Sans and Papyrus, if a bit rougher and younger. Gaster had haltingly explained his new machine, and the inadvertent kidnapping, looking all the while like Asgore would strike him down for daring to rescue two children from an alternate world, potentially causing an inter-dimensional incident.

Instead, Asgore told the four boys to call him Uncle Asgore, and had taken them under his wing. Red was skeptical at first, but Edge had warmed right up to him, fascinated by his soft fur and large horns. Sans and Papyrus, having grown up knowing the king as a friend of their fathers, easily shifted to calling him Uncle. His royal duties being few and far between thanks to the current peace and prosperity in their underground kingdom, the king took over babysitting for Gaster, insisting upon it when the scientist balked at taking up the kings time. 

The past six months had been filled with many tea parties, pretend play time, and coloring pages. The flowers in his throne room were slightly trampled, but Asgore hadn’t been this happy in years. Not since his own children had played among the palace halls. Even Red had eventually warmed up to him, after seeing how gentle the goat monster was with his little brother. Now the four spent nearly every afternoon after school in the playroom down the hall, which hadn’t been used since his own children's deaths. There had been many tears and more than one long pause over a well-loved toy, but Asgore had cleaned it up and now reveled in the renewed laughter of children that echoed through the Judgement Hall and Throne Room. 

Said silence was stifled now - he’d left the boys with a stack of new books, and once Papyrus had picked one and Sans had begun reading it to the other three, he’d snuck out to water the flowers and check with his guards to see if anything needed his attention. He hadn’t expected a soaking-wet scientist to appear in the doorway with two new babybones. At last the king gave in and chuckled, shaking his horned head as he crossed the room to stand before his friend.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up, Gaster? I’ll take the boys to the playroom so they can meet the others.” He smiled down at the too-old Papyrus and the too-young Sans, who was still sucking on the hoodie string as he looked about with wide, starry eyes. 

The doctor slumped a bit in relief. “Really? Thank you, sire.” He crouched down beside the boys and set a gentle hand on the Papyrus’ shoulder. “Asgore will take good care of you boys, and you’ll get to meet my sons. Remember, I told you about them on the boat?” 

Too-old Papyrus raised a bone brow, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Before or after you fell off?” His grin grew wide at the sound of Asgore attempting - and failing - to muffle his laughter. 

With a heavy sigh, Gaster ran a hand over his face. “You are going to be trouble, I can tell.” Though phrased as a reprimand, his voice held nothing but affection. “I shall return after a hot shower. Behave, please.”

“Sure thing, Pops.” 

Another chuckle from Asgore had Gaster fleeing to save the tattered remains of his dignity, leaving the king to lead his new charges to the playroom.

 

* * *

 

 

If he had to hear another stupid Fluffy Bunny story, Red was going to slap someone. Or eat the damn book. One of the two. Maybe both. 

Then again, both Edge and Red loved the books, and it kept them sitting in one place for more than five minutes. Sans enjoyed reading them, too - he did all the funny voices and made sure each of the younger boys got a good look at the pictures, despite them having memorized the painted illustrations long ago. He couldn’t destroy something his little brothers loved so much - why had he thought that in the first place?

His therapist said he had something called ‘anger issues.’ He got angry because it was a familiar emotion, something he knew and felt that he could control. He  _ couldn’t  _ control it, though - at the best of times he managed to cool himself off, but at the worst he made his brothers cry and ended up banished to their bedroom for half-an-hour so he could cool off and calm his emotions, which were constantly all over the map. Edge didn’t mind his moods - he was used to them. He gave Red space to calm down, then came over and sat in his lap and talked about happy things or made bad jokes until he got his brother to smile. 

Sans and Papyrus hadn’t been that way at first - they’d taken his words personally, and he’d even made Papyrus cry a few times, which always put Sans on the defensive. Gaster had sat them all down after talking with the therapist and had explained that while Red was being mean, it wasn’t on purpose, and the mean things he said were because Red felt cornered, scared, or confused. Papyrus had immediately changed his tune, forgiven Red, and everytime he had an episode there was a ‘Feel Better!’ card tucked in whatever book he was reading. Sans was more hesitant to forgive, but eventually he adjusted to letting the rants roll off his back like water off the feathers of a bird that carries you over a disproportionately small gap. Just a moment of eye-contact and a nod whenever Red slumped out of their bedroom, feeling tired and worn out. As nice as the hugs and pictures from his little brothers were, that affirmation from his older brother helped the most.

Speaking of Sans, he’d just broken out the squeaky Sammy Squirrel voice, and if Edge weren’t nestled in his lap, listening as he hugged a stuffed giraffe in his arms, Red would have bolted. Instead he huffed and glanced about the brightly-decorated room, eye pips eventually coming to rest on the trio standing in the doorway. Asgore was back, along with what looked like a Papyrus that had been put through the rack and stretched two extra feet, as well as a blueberry in a onesie who was chewing on a piece of cord from the stretchy Papyrus’ hoodie. 

“Huh,” he muttered, loud enough to interrupt Sans. “You owe me two gold, bro.” 

Sans followed his doubles gaze to the door, and his brow wrinkled. “Darn. Thought for sure dad wouldn’t make it to another universe today.” He closed the book and set it at his side. Edge and Papyrus, who had followed their older brothers gaze, gave identical, happy NYEH!’s and bolted for the doorway.

“WELCOME, NEW BROTHERS!” They hollered in unison, and the cool-and-collected Too-Old Papyrus jerked a bit at the yelling. In his arms, Too-Young Sans let the cord fall out of his mouth and began babbling at high speed, throwing his arms up and waving them around like the world's youngest raver.

“Now, now, boys,” Asgore crouched down so he wasn’t towering over the small skeles, “Remember, we use our indoor voice when we’re inside, right?” 

The two Papyri nodded, sockets wide. “Right!” They near-whispered in unison, before turning to the new skeleton. “Welcome, new brothers!” 

“I’m Papyrus!”

“And I’m Edge!”

“We’re happy you’re here!” They chorused together, bouncing on their heels. 

Too-Old Papyrus blinked. “Hey. I’m Papyrus,” he looked at Papyrus with a quirked brow, “and this is my bro, Sans.” 

“My brother is also named Sans!” Papyrus #1 gasped, cheeks glowing in excitement. “We need to give you nicknames, like we did with Red and Edge!” 

“Yeah!” Edge echoed, red eyelights taking in the new comers. “You’re tall! Like - like someone stretched me ‘n’ Paps, kinda! Like a piece of taffy!”

“Let's call you Taffy!” 

“Bro,” Sans and Red had finally hauled themselves up and shuffled to the door, “I think your greatness is overwhelming them.” 

Papyrus took a step back (and Sans promptly used his head as an armrest, much to the youngers annoyance) and nodded sagely, despite the weight on his head. “That does tend to happen. I apologize, tall-me!” 

“Uh...accepted?” Taffy shifted his brother in his arms. “But to be honest, little dude, I’m not really feeling the name Taffy. Got any other ideas?” 

“How about Stretch?” Red suggested, looking Taffy up and down. “Y’do look like someone put my baby bros through the wringer.” 

As Stretch mulled the name over, both Edge and Papyrus gave Red scandalized looks. “We’re not babies!” The former protested.

“Yeah,  _ he’s  _ a baby!” Papyrus pointed at the wiggling bundle in Stretch’s arm. “We’re big boys!” 

“Aw, Red,” Sans stepped closer to his twin and wiped away an imaginary tear. “They’re all grown up!” 

Immediately, Red mimicked him, swiping at his own fake tears and leaning on Sans. “I’m such a proud dad!” 

“You’re not my dad! You’re my brother!” Edge pouted at Red, who cackled in response. 

“Where is daddy?” Papyrus piped up, leaning over to try and look around Asgore, who’d been happily watching all the baby bones interact. They were always an amusing bunch.

“He is freshening up,” Asgore explained, finally giving in and sitting back on his rump, knees aching from crouching so long. 

“Why? Does he smell bad?” 

“He can’t smell bad, bro,” Sans jumped in, grin growing wider, “He doesn’t have a nose!” He, Red, and surprisingly Stretch began laughing. In the latters arms, Too-Young Sans crossed his arms and pouted, recognizing a pun when he heard one, even at his young age.

“Look, brothers! Even baby-you doesn’t approve of your -  _ ugh  _ \- puns!” Papyrus pointed out the baby’s adorable scowl, which made the other three laugh even harder. 

“He needs a nickname too!” Edge pointed out, sliding a bit closer and gently holding one of his phalanges out to the baby. With a cheerful burble the baby grabbed the finger and examined it closely, before sticking it in his mouth. His large, starry eyes stared up at Edge as he gently gnawed at the appendage, before his grin grew wider and he began laughing and burbling once again.

“Blue!” Papyrus declared, and as the older siblings watched Blue chew happily on an equally-pleased Edge’s finger, nobody could think of a reason to object. 

“Stretch ‘n’ Blue,” Red said out loud, squinting at the pair. The names fit. “Welcome to th’ family.” 

“Can I hold Blue?” Papyrus asked, bouncing beside Edge, who was completely enraptured with the baby using him as a teething toy. 

“I do not think that is the best idea,” Asgore cautioned, hauling himself to his feet, “But I do believe I have something little Blue might like.” He squeezed past the boys and crossed the room to the closet in the far wall (wincing a bit when he stepped on a lego - where had that even come from?). After a moment of rooting through the old toys piled up in the old closet, he pulled out a large, round contraption. It was a baby-walker, with a seat in the middle surrounded by a round disk, which was covered in blocks on wire frames and toys that spun and rattled and chimed. He set it down, brushing a tiny cobweb off one of the wires, and presented it to the boys. “Aha! This was my son's favorite toy when he was a baby.” 

“Wowie! I bet Blue will love it!” Papyrus and Edge immediately scrambled to examine it, moving the blocks along the wire tracks and pressing each button to make sure they all worked.

“This is so cool, Uncle Asgore!” Edge tacked on, waving his other brothers over. Sans and Red ambled over, followed slowly by Stretch and the squirmy baby in his grasp.   
“This should give your arms a break,” Asgore mentioned, noting how Stretch’s energy was beginning to flag. “Just set Blue right here in the middle.” 

Stretch did so, though there was hesitation in his movements. Blue made a confused noise as he was settled in the comfy fabric seat, but immediately began squealing at the sight of the new toys he could play with (and chew on). Edge began slowly moving the blocks, showing how they worked, and barely managed to move his hand out of the way before Blue chomped down on them. Giggling, the teething baby gnawed on the wood, and both Papyrus and Edge beamed. 

Stretch took a step away from the baby walker as the younger two crowded it, carefully showing the babybones how each item worked. Asgore sat on the other side of it, at the baby’s back, keeping the Papyri enthusiasm in check to keep little Blue from being overwhelmed. 

“So, bro,” Sans threw an arm around his shoulder, “Let’s have a quick chat.” 

“Just a friendly big-bro discussion,” Red affirmed, also throwing his arm around his shoulder, and both pulled him back, towards the far corner of the room, out of hearing range of the baby-bones.

Neither Sans held him tight enough that he couldn’t shrug off their grip, so Stretch let himself be pulled back. Once the two deemed them far enough, they moved to stand in front of him. They were all nearly the same height - the Sans were just inches taller than Stretch. They arranged themselves so Stretch could see Blue through the gap between their heads, glancing back and forth several times to make sure the line-of-sight was there. At Stretch’s confused look, Red chuckled.

“I didn’ let Edge outta my sight for the first month we were here,” he explained with a shrug. “So, welcome t’ the family, Taffy.” 

“I think he prefers Stretch,” Sans nudged Red gently with his elbow.

“But Taffy is so much  _ sweeter _ .” 

The two snickered, and Stretch cracked a smile. “True, but I can be pretty  _ salty _ .”

Red and Sans beamed, feeling the beginning of a wonderful pun-ship in their bones. 

“So,” Sans steered them on task, “Welcome, ‘n’ all that, glad to have you here, but we need to know:  _ why  _ are you here?” 

“Well,” Stretch pulled a sucker out of his hoodie pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it between his teeth, “There I was, taking a walk with my baby bro, when all of a sudden this tall guy with holes in his hands popped outta nowhere and offered to give me more little brothers…” 

“Uh-huh.” The two Sans said in unison, giving him an unimpressed look.

“Look,” Sans reached out and rested a hand on Stretch’s shoulder, “My -  _ our  _ \- dad doesn’t go around just randomly collected babybones from other universes. There has to be a reason he decided to bring you ‘n’ your bro here.” 

“I was bored,” Stretch shrugged, not meeting their eyes. “Trans-dimensional trip sounded like fun.” 

“Really?” Red scowled. “See, dad brought me here ‘cause my bro and I were gettin’ the shit beat outta us.” 

“Language!” Sans hissed, as Stretch glanced at them. “Bubble bath and disappointment, remember?” 

Red cringed. “Oh, right. Blech. Anyway, my bro and I got the  _ snot  _ beaten outta us by our Gaster, so dad rescued us. What did your Gaster do to ya?”

“ _ My  _ Gaster?” Stretch tilted his head and pulled his sucker out of his mouth, “Gaster runs the ferry service in the Underground. I’ve only met him a few times.” The two Sans stared at him, before dissolving into giggles. “What’s so funny?” 

Sans was the first to get control, and he grinned up at Stretch. “Dad can’t swim,” he explained, snickering. “He  _ hates  _ taking the ferry!” 

“He only does it ‘cause it’s faster than walking!” Red added, leaning on Sans. 

“So wait - did you not grow up in the lab then?” Sans asked, quickly sobering his brother. 

“I did,” Stretch stuck the sucker back between his teeth, “With the Science Person.” 

“The...Science Person?” Red snorted. “God, what a name.” 

“Yeah, he wasn’t great at names.” Stretch rolled the candy against his teeth. “Why does it matter?” 

The older skeletons shared a glance, then Red sighed and nodded. He unzipped his jacket and tugged it off, revealing a plush red turtleneck beneath. He began rolling up the sleeve of his right arm, but Sans stopped him,

“Wait a minute!” He shucked his own jacket, showing off a white turtleneck similar to his brothers, and turned away from the two. He shoved up his sleeve and, taking something from his pocket, began moving his arms frantically. He rolled his sleeve back down, stuck whatever-it-was back in his pocket, and turned back to face them. “Okay!” 

Red gave his brother a weird look, but finished rolling up his sleeve, revealing the barcode carved into the surface of his humerus. Stretch felt sick looking at it - though the carving was partially filled in thanks to some kind of medical treatment, it was still far too familiar for comfort. Beside Red, Sans also rolled up his sleeve, much to his brothers confusion. 

“What. Is. That?” 

“I didn’t want to feel left out!”

Doodled in red marker on the oldest skeletons humerus was a crude ketchup bottle, right where Red’s barcode was. 

“This is  _ serious  _ you ass - er, asphalt licker!” 

“Nice save, bro.” Sans was grinning wider than ever, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out two pens - one red, one yellow. “Here, lemme help you out.” He pounced, showing off his quick reflexes as he darted to Red’s side, snatched his arm and held it out so he could doodle something over the scar. 

“What are you - cut it  _ out! _ ” Red jerked back, but Sans held fast until he was done, when he darted away.

“There, now we match!” 

Drawn over the barcode in bright-yellow marker was a bottle with a big ‘M’ label. It was surprisingly well done, considering the wiggling of the canvas. Red glared at the beaming Sans, planning his revenge in excruciating (for Sans) detail, when a snort interrupted them. The pair glanced at Stretch, who was grinning. He held out his hand for the marker, phalanges wiggling.

“Lemme see it,” he asked, and Sans readily handed the yellow marker over. Stretch yanked his hoodie off over his head, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. The brothers did their best not to gasp at the sight - the Papyrus’ arms and clavicle were far too thin, and covered with deep scars and new, clotted gashes, and that was just the bones they could see. On his right humerus, identical to Red, was a barcode carved into the bone. Stretch quickly began scribbling over it, and both Sans and Red had to lean forward to see what he was drawing.

It was a bottle, like theirs, but shaped like a bear, with a big H in the middle. 

“Red was right,” Sans said as soon as he figured it out, “You  _ are  _ sweet!” 

The three dissolved into giggles, and in that laughter something joined them - an understanding of sorts. Stretch, who had still been tense and rigid despite his lackadaisical appearance, allowed his bones to relax. He picked up his hoodie and yanked it back on, the other two following suit with their jackets soon after. 

“So,” Sans finally got control of his giggles, “What happened?” 

Stretch glanced at his baby bro, who was being taught the complex intricacies of Patty-Cake by the enthralled Papyrus and Edge, and felt a pang in his Soul at the thought of what had almost happened.

“The doc said it was Blue’s turn to get branded tomorrow,” he explained, rubbing at his barcode through the sleeve of his sweater. “I figured it was a good time to move out. Y’know, strike out on my own and all that. Become a man. Or a woman. I’m not picky.” 

“So you took your bro and ran?” Red guessed, glancing back at Blue, who had misjudged his patty and hit Edge square in the face, giggling all the while. 

“Yep. Snuck some of the docs fave tranqs into his coffee and as soon as he was out, took Sa - er, Blue, and bolted. Ran right into your Gaster when I was almost out. Woulda given me a heart attack, if I had a heart.” He admitted. “Pops took one look at me, and offered to get me outta there. I wasn’t about to say no.” 

“So he ported you right home, then?” 

“Uh, no,” Stretch’s smile widened. “See, the doc has a pretty high tolerance for his tranqs, and he’d woken up and called the Royal Guard by then. We ended up hoofing it down to River Gaster’s boat. ‘Course River Gaster wasn’t surprised to see Pops, just started spouting something ‘bout being wary of people wearing cloaks - while he’s  _ wearing  _ a cloak - and so we hop on, Pops tells him to step on it, and we take off. I was sitting, but your dad…” He began to snicker. “He went right over the side of the boat!” 

“What?!” Sans and Red were both torn between amusement and shock. “Is he okay?” Sans demanded at the same time Red asked, “Is he alive?” 

“He’s fine. River Gaster went back to fish him out, chided him about the rules of the boat, then went on singing ‘til we reached Waterfall. Once we got there Pops asked if I was okay, and brought us here.” Stretch looked around the playroom. “Pretty nice digs, to be honest. Wasn’t expecting to be living it up in the palace.” 

“Oh, we don’t live here!” Papyrus and Edge had left Blue to be entertained by Asgore, wanting to be involved in the important-brotherly-discussion.

“Uncle Asgore babysits us when daddy is busy!” Edge added, immediately clinging to Red like a koala. With a grunt, Red obligingly lifted him into his arms. 

“We go to school here in New Home, so it’s easier than going all the way home to Snowdin after school!” Papyrus explained, climbing up Sans like a monkey. The elder brother sighed but swung him into his arms. 

“Why you making us work, little bros?” He asked, gently tickling Paps ribs. 

“Cause you make us feel tall!” Edge squealed as Red did the same, slipping his hand under the red t-shirt he had on and trailing his phalanges over the sensitive bones. “Red, stop!” 

“Why?” Red asked, grinning widely to show off his sharp teeth. “T’me you look  _ tickled pink! _ ” 

“No!” Edge squealed. “Save me, new brother!” He held his hands out to Stretch, who began blushing a faint orange at the name. 

“Ya sure, bro?” He asked, holding his hands out and accepting Edge into his arms. “It looked to me like you were having a pretty  _ sansational  _ time there!” 

Gaster took that moment to return to the room, showered and dressed in dry, warm clothes. He heard yells of betrayal, screams of ‘NO’ and ‘NOT ANOTHER ONE!’, followed by a relentless torrent of puns. Poking his head in, he was pleased to see Stretch had been accepted into their odd little family, as he, Sans, and Red were chased around the room by an irate pair of Papyri, who were demanding they stop their punning ways, as Blue sat in the middle of the chaos, cheerfully shrieking like a parrot and enjoying the chaos around him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100% happy with this chapter, please let me know what you think!
> 
>  
> 
> About putting in Handplates: I want to. I really, really want to, but it wouldn’t happen until the end of the story. Also, I’m hesitant, because Zarla is one of the reasons I got Undertale in the first place! I followed her for her cute Ace Attorney comics, but then she started posting these pictures and comics about adorable skeletons (pre-Handplates) and it caught my interest. I’d heard of Undertale from a friend, but these pictures made me want to learn a lot more about the characters, so I bought it, played it, and fell in love. I have nothing but admiration and respect for Zarla, and when I do write in Handplates I want to make sure I do it right. It will have a huge impact on the story, and won’t happen for a while, but it is coming!
> 
> Also please somebody draw these boys. I can't draw babybones, I can barely draw adult bones (snrk) but I need pictures of these babies in my life. 
> 
> If you would like to donate a cup of coffee to our poor, tired Papa Gaster, I have a Kofi account here: [ Coffee for Tired Skeletons Trying to Parent ](https://ko-fi.com/rivethart)
> 
> Cheers and thanks to everyone who reviews and left comments! It is much appreciated, all you lovely peeps!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY I DIDN'T THINK IT WOULD TAKE THIS LONG FORGIVE MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

“20 G.” 

“That’s not the way betting works!”

“Oh, you’re right bro. My bad. 30 G.” 

“Gah!”

Light feet stomp away as much as they can, muttering angrily about honey-scented knuckle heads.

“I really wish you wouldn’t bet on my science experiments.”   
“Oh, heya Pops. Glad you’re awake.” 

It took far too much effort to light his eyes, but Gaster did so, and winced when he was assaulted with the bright orange shade that only his middle son could pull off.

“Hello, Stretch.” Oh stars, why did his head hurt? He hadn’t been drinking, had he? No, he hadn’t had a hangover since Sans was born. Had he fallen off the wagon? Had Asgore convinced him to try something new? Or had it been Grillby? The bartender was his best friend, but beyond his stoic demeanor he did have a prankster streak…

“Woah there, Pops. The doc said you aren’t supposed to get up until he says so.” Stretch gently pushed him back into the plush pillows. Much too plush to be his own, he prefered  firm pillow that could handle the weight of his skull. So this wasn’t his bed. Then where was…?

“DADDY!’ 

The bed bounced and he was assaulted on all sides by worried pats, concerned kisses, and anxious inquiries about how he was feeling. Papyrus sat beside his shoulder and began petting his head, babbling at high speed about how worried they had been when they saw him. (Saw him what? He still couldn’t remember what had brought him here. Stars, the kids hadn’t seen him drunk, had they? That was the last thing he needed…). Edge hauled Blue (who was now a whole year old and just as wiggly as his counterparts) onto the bed, then followed, making sure to smooth out the white sheets behind them. 

The older siblings were not far behind. Sans sidled up beside Stretch, who had apparently been taking a turn on watch, and they exchanged a quiet, tired look. Red was not far behind, a bundle of purple in his arms. The bundle was glaring at everything in the room with large, round eyelights over a sharp-toothed scowl. Behind them all trailed a tall, thin figure wearing a hospital gown. He looked similar to Stretch, but his teeth had been filed into fangs, and one of his canines was missing. There was a deep gouge going through one socket, and when Gaster made eye contact, he sunk into himself and looked at the floor. 

The scientist sought out his oldest, squinting at Sans, who had moved to stand by the head of the bed. “What happened?” He asked, wishing he could sit up and look at them all properly. By now, however, Blue had managed to climb up onto his chest and was sitting there, burbling softly and patting the spot above his SOUL with worry. 

“Dunno, dad. You popped up with Black and Slim over there in the middle of the throne room, handed them to Asgore, and fainted.” 

“He didn’t  _ faint _ ,” Edge immediately corrected, “Only  _ weaklings  _ faint. He  _ collapsed  _ in a very  _ heroic  _ and  _ not at all worrying  _ way.” There was a, well, edge to his voice, and he slipped his small hand into Gaster’s larger one. The older skeleton squeezed the tiny phalanges, and Edge relaxed his shoulders, settling more comfortably on what Gaster now recognized as a hospital bed. 

“Do you remember anything, Pops?” Stretch asked, leaning against the edge of the bed. Gaster settled his head back on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to think back to what he had last been doing. 

“I think-” 

 

_ Dark hallways made of dented metal, long gouges scratched in the surface that spoke of something monstrous, something other (but perhaps not so different from himself…), lurking in the depths. _

 

_ A sound - a SCREAM - and he was running, Soul pounding at the familiarity of the voice, despite the gravely undertones. He couldn’t help but think back to a year ago, to the broken walls and broken boys he had found living within them… _

 

_ Marrow. Everywhere. Marrow and magic and...and  _ other  _ things dripping from the table, from the narrow chisel and hammer lying on the floor, from the arm of the child - the TODDLER - sobbing and clutching his humerus, wailing in a way only an innocent who has been injured can. The monster that is not him, but REPRESENTS him in this universe, is screaming himself hoarse, his face half-destroyed by what appear to be claw marks. He is lifting his fists and dropping them repeatedly on the small, slim form standing defiantly before him, protecting the toddler at his back. The Science Person lifts his fist again. _

_ And he. _

 

_ Is. _

 

_ Rage. _

 

Gaster shifted to look at the two new boys - the babe in Red’s arms, and the older child half-hiding behind him. “You two…”

 

_ There is no movement of his legs - just a leap, a jump through space that tears at the fabric and leaves him perfectly places to intercept the next blow, which glances off him and leaves the bastard unbalanced. He turns, grabs the arm as it falls, and braces his other hand on the monsters shoulder. With a quick pull and a slight twist, aided by the rage in his SOUL, the arm is dislocated, and the Science Person lets out an unearthly wail. A gentle push - a tap, really - and he is off balance and falling backwards onto his ass.  _

 

_ The toddler is wailing again, and without saying a word he turns and gathers the Too-Old Papyrus and the Too-Young Sans into his arms, both injured and on the verge of collapse. Too-Old Papyrus eyes him through heavy sockets, a crack extending upwards from his jaw where a hit had knocked a tooth loose. Too-Young Sans quiets at the touch, as though expecting pain, but settles when none comes. He babbles in confusion, reaching for his big brother, worry sparking in his sockets when he sees the marrow coating the older child's bones.  _

 

“Are you alright?” He cradles Blue and pushes himself up far too quickly. “Your jaw, the tooth - does it hurt? I have some topical antiseptic that also has numbing qualities in my lab, it should lessen the pain. And Dr. Camazotz has some calcium tinctures that can fill in the scratches, and the barcodes - Red and Edge have shown remarkable improvement with them.” He hands Blue, who is quiet and curious as he always is when his father starts babbling, to Edge, and reaches out to take the new babe. Red hands him over, and the grumpy babe continues to glare right up at the adult. “Hmm, you seem to be a bit underweight,” Gaster bounces him a bit in his hands, and the impressive scowl grows deeper. “I’m certain Asgore will help us fix that, and a nutrition plan can easily be drawn up.” He brought the babe to his chest and ran a thumb along his brow. “No fever, so it seems whatever occured has been-”

“Dr. Gaster, if you do not hand over that child and lay back down immediately, I will have your progeny banned from the room.” 

The room of skeletons froze, skulls turning slowly to look at the door. A large, elderly bat monster stood in the doorway, hands on his hips as he viewed them all over the top of his thick half-moon glasses. 

“Ah, uh, Dr. Camazotz,” Gaster gave the bat monster a weak smile. “It is always a pleasure to see you…”  
The bat huffed and walked (well, waddled - he had been speared through the hip during the war with Humans and had limped oddly ever since) over to the bed. The babe in Gasters arms dropped his scowl and threw up his arms, smiling at the bat, who easily returned the smile and scooped him up before the scientist could blink. 

“Now then,” Camazotz scowled at the children in the room, “I said  _ one  _ of you could wait in here with your father. Since you can’t follow directions, all of you can march yourselves back to the playroom until Asgore has finished dinner.” 

There was an immediate chorus of ‘Awwww!’ from the younger three on the bed, but the ancient doctor shot them a flat look, ears pinned back, that had them kissing Gaster on the cheek one after another and scrambling down with a ‘Yes, sir!’ The older three followed suit, and Red took the New Papyrus’ hand and led him from the room. The boy hadn’t said a word the entire time, Gaster realized. He hoped that bastard in the other universe hadn’t caused any irreversible damage to the hyoid bone. He might need to make a return trip if that was the case…

As soon as the boys were gone, Camazotz shifted the babe to one arm, and with his free hand smacked Gaster upside the back of his head. 

“If you  _ EVER  _ appear in front of your kids  _ DRIPPING MARROW  _ like that  _ AGAIN _ , I will  _ personally dust you _ ,” he threatened. “Honestly, every time you come in here, it’s worse!” He threw his empty arm up in exasperation, and the babe follows suit, eye lights bright with wonder as the old bat rants. “One day I’m not going to be able to save you, or these children you’re bringing home like lost puppies!” 

“You would rather I leave them to be tortured?” Gaster asked sourly, not enjoying the dressing down. Camazotz was older then Asgore himself, and it was nearly impossible to  _ not  _ feel like a child when being yelled at by him. 

“No, I want you to think!” Camazotz moved to smack him again, but Gaster ducked the flailng hand. “Whoever you attacked managed to get one last hit in before you got back here!” 

 

_ He turned to go - an angry shout - a flash of light - a pain in his back - he hits his watch - and there are golden flowers - and his sons - and his friend - and - and -and -  _

 

The doctor sighed, heaving his shoulders theatrically, and focused on the babe in his arm. He tickled under the babybones chin, and immediately had his finger forfeit as a chew toy. “You have  _ eight  _ sons now, Gaster. Eight. You cannot keep jumping through this machine of yours - you need to be here. You need to be here for the children you’ve already saved, not galloping across this - this multiverse thing you’ve discovered like a superhero.” He managed to free his finger and sat on the side of the bed. With smooth movement, he handed the babe over to Gaster, who accepted the once-again-scowling child with surprise. “Black and Slim need you now. Don’t disappoint them.” 

Black - he was assuming, since his other chubby babybones was Blue, and knowing how Papyrus was about naming things - was disappointed in the new person holding him. There were bags under his eyes, and without thinking Gaster drew him close and began rocking his arms gently, humming the tune he always heard from the music box in Waterfall. Within minutes, he was asleep, drooling slightly on Gaster as the older skeleton shifted to hold him against one shoulder. 

When Gaster looked up, Camazotz was gone, leaving him and his newest son to bond. He shifted the pillows with his magic and sat back against the headboard, thinking over what the older monster had said. Perhaps he should stop visiting other universes, at least until his boys were older. Maybe when Sans, Red, and Stretch were adults, they could all look for an above-ground universe together. In the meantime, he would simply focus on raising his boys to be the best men they could.

  
  


* * *

 

 

“How long do y’ think the doc’ll keep him down there?” Red asked, looking up from the astrology book he’d been staring at for the past twenty minutes. 

“Longer than he needs,” Sans answered, handing Papyrus the orange crayon he had asked for. “Y’know how Zotz is - the longer he can keep an eye on people, the better.” 

“I swear, the whole Underground would be bubble wrapped if he had his way,” Red responded, giving up the pretense of reading and shutting the book. 

“Bub wrap!” Blue agreed from his spot between Papyrus and Red. All three were coloring a picture on a large piece of paper for their dad. 

“I’d love to see him bubble wrap Hotland.” Stretch admitted from where he was, true to form, stretched out on the large couch that took up one wall of the playroom. Slim was curled up in the other corner of the couch, wearing one of Stretch’s extra hoodies. It was black and had a fur-lined hood, and was far too large on his small bones. It was practically a blanket on him, allowing him to disappear completely if he wanted to. The quiet skeleton loved it.

“Why’s that?” Edge asked, accepting a blue crayon from Sans and coloring in an echo flower with extremely slow scribbles, making sure to stay in the line.

“I want to see how he bubble wraps the magma,” Stretch snickered. 

“Oh, I would  _ lava  _ to see that!” Sans agreed, and the three babybones beside him groaned in tandem. “What?”

“Your puns are too  _ hot  _ to handle, bro,” Red admonished through a shit-eating grin, plopping down on the couch between Stretch and Slim. 

“I dunno,” Stretch tossed in, “They seem to be giving him the  _ cold shoulder _ .” 

Within his hoodie-cave, Slim snorted, eyelights peeking out from the hood showing delight.

Sans opened his mouth to answer, only to have a crayon promptly shoved into it. “No! No more puns!” Papyrus decreed, snatching the box of Crayons away from his biggest brother. “Honestly, you’re going to curdle the colors with your bad puns!” 

The older four shared a look of pure glee at the brilliant absurdity of the statement, but an odd voice interrupted them. 

“He’s got a point,” an odd, rounded skeleton wearing brown and black clothes and a bandolier of paint vials mused, crouching beside Edge and viewing their work. “This is an amazing picture, guys. I like the colors,” he pointed at the rainbow Papyrus had been coloring in. He turned his head to the side and winked at them with mismatched pupils. “Very nice.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am so sorry. It was not supposed to take this long. I hope that, despite being short, it was worth it! We now have the core cast of characters - Undertale, Underfell, Underswap, and Swapfell! Now they will have baby adventures, preteen adventures, teen adventures, young-adult tragedies, and some Homeric story telling! 
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed, and the next chapter hopefully won't take as long to get out, now that my writers block has been smashed by the effervescent Ink! Also, what is he doing in this story? What do the kids think of him? Why is he butting into my nice, safe, angsty AU? We shall see, next time, on...Gaster's Home For Wayward Skeletons!
> 
> If you would like to donate a cup of coffee to our poor, tired Papa Gaster, I have a Kofi account here: [ Coffee for Tired Skeletons Trying to Parent ](https://ko-fi.com/rivethart)
> 
> Cheers!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight over-reaction.

The screams were expected.

Being slammed against the far wall with an overpowered blue attack while Slim forced the other children behind him was not. 

Ink Sans blinked away the stars dancing about his head (which was not a creative euphemism - actual stars were dancing about his head, fascinating the children gathered on the couch behind Slim, who was standing in front of them with his arms thrown wide) as the blue attack released him, allowing him to drop to the floor. He did so gracefully - landing on his rear end was completely graceful, and he would fight anyone who said it wasn’t - and shook his head in a dazed kind of stupor. He was used to being attacked, but normally he had a little more warning. Slim was  _ quick _ .

Slim was also  _ angry _ .

Sans, Red, and Stretch had all seized their brothers at the first sign of trouble and hauled them back onto the couch (a defensible position in their minds), while the newcomer had leapt off and established himself firmly between them. The rail-thin skeleton was shaking inside his too-big hoodie, but his eyes were lit with intense purple magic that trembled like a coiled snake as it slipped from his socket. 

He wasn’t the only one furious at the intrusion. Red, after making sure Edge was firmly settled in the middle of the couch with Papyrus and Blue, hit the interloper with his fiercest look. “Who the funk are you?”

Ink started to stand, but thought better of it when Slim growled and twitched his fingers. Instead he relaxed against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. “Hi!” He wiggled his fingers at the septet. “I’m Ink!” When none of the children relaxed at the introduction, he awkwardly coughed into his fist (bringing up only a slight smattering of ink, thankfully) and tried again. “I’m sorry for surprising you,” he put on his most sincere kicked-puppy-dog face, “I just wanted to meet you all and say hi.” 

“You said hi,” Slim growled, running his finger tips against the end of his thumb repeatedly, creating a steady  _ tic tic tic  _ of bone hitting bone. “You can leave now.” 

Ink’s smile faltered, and he started to get up once again, moving faster than he had before. “Wait, I just-” 

A flash, a smell of ozone, a surge of magic ability and angry intent, and Slim was no longer standing alone. A floating construct of chipped bones and righteous fury floated beside him, eyelights a bright purple to match his masters own. It strongly resembled the constructs Gaster used, called Gaster Blasters, but for a few differences. There were no jutting horns or chiseled joints, and the bones, while pitted with small cracks that mirrored Slims, were a dusty gray color instead of a shining white. Also, the little creature was no longer than it’s masters forearm, and was about the size of a canteloup.

Within the playroom time seemed to stand still, every bone held taunt, as the children faced down the interloper, the only sound the hum of Slim’s magic. 

“ _ It’s so CUTE!”  _

Edge jumped off the edge of the couch and rushed up to Slim, staring at the floating construct with wide sockets full of wonder. “It’s so  _ tiny _ ! And look at it’s little horns!” He held his arms up to the construct, who had completely dismissed Ink at this point and was instead interested in this new little skeleton. It floated down, within reach, and Edge gave it a careful pat. 

“Borf?” 

“Ahh! Did you hear that?” Edge looked up at Slim, who was completely befuddled, then over his shoulder at his other brothers. “It likes me!” The Blaster nudged him for another pat, and he happily obliged. Papyrus and Blue stared at their brother, exchanged bewildered glances, then steamrolled their older brothers in order to get their own pats in.

“I wanna pet it!” 

“Bof! Bof!” 

The little Blaster floated even closer to the ground at the sight of the smaller brothers, and happily barked and boofed as he was pet by a myriad of hands. Slim, flabbergasted, dropped his arms (which he’d held out dramatically to warn the interloper away) and glanced back at Sans, Red, and Stretch. 

Sans still had his eyes on Ink (who was watching the younger brothers while scribbling something on the long, parchment-like scarf he wore). Red and Stretch were watching their brothers, each looking completely clueless as to what to do next. When Blue started cuddling the little Blaster (who, in return, began  _ purring _ ) they moved to join them.

“Slim, bro,” Red stared at the little Blaster (who was patiently being gnawed upon by Blue, who had a new incisor coming in), “That’s funking amazing.” 

“Language!” Papyrus scolded as he gently pried Blue off the now-slobbery Blaster. 

“Borf?” The Blaster nuzzled Papyrus, then moved to sniff at Slim and Red. The former gave it a careful pat between the horns, while the later gave Slim a friendly (and exceedingly gentle) jab in the arm. 

“So cool,” he agreed with his little brothers. “Only ever seen dad summon one of those before.” 

“To be fair,” Stretch reached out and scratched beneath the creatures chin, “Pop’s aren’t nearly as cute as this little guy.” 

“They aren’t  _ meant  _ to be cute,” a harried, tired voice said from the door. Gaster stared at the little Blaster bouncing around his boys, then moved his dim eyelights to his newest son. “Slim, you’re radiating intent throughout the entire castle; it’s upsetting Black.” 

Black was, indeed, upset. He was clinging to the front of Gaster’s sweater, glaring at everything he could see, tears clinging to his sockets. Like a switch had been flipped, Slim slumped, and the magic that had been sputtering from his socket vanished. The Blaster gave Slim one last nudge before it, too, vanished from sight. The angry, protective intent dissipated, leaving an odd emptiness. It was quickly filled by...wailing.

Gaster moved quickly, stepping over the scattered toys on the floor to reach his boys. Black, still crying, threw his arms towards his brother. Slim immediately reciprocated, pulling the year old baby bones into his arms and letting him burrow his head into the hoodie. With practice that the other three big brothers were familiar with, he began bouncing and humming, twisting back and forth as he calmed the overwhelmed infant. 

“Now then,” Gaster counted heads - eight skulls, eight children, none of them looking worse for wear - “What in the world is going on up here? Did you get into a fight?” 

“No!” Papyrus huffed, “It was  _ him _ !” He turned and pointed dramatically at the empty wall across the room. 

“Ah,” Gaster looked at the empty space, then back at his third-youngest. “I see. And you are mad at the wall because…?”

“Not at the wall, at  _ Ink! _ ” 

“Ink? Did you draw on the wall?” Gaster demanded, crossing the room to inspect the drywall and paint. Other than a few scuff marks from moving furniture and a dent from when Edge got a bit too excited with a ball, the paint was pristine. 

“No! Daddy, we wouldn’t do that!” Edge argued, following. “There was somebody here!” 

“Yeah, there was!” Papyrus agreed. “He was a skeleton, like us!” 

“But taller!”

“And he was wearing a rainbow across his chest!”

“His scarf was super long and he was drawing on it!”

“He said his name is Ink!”

“And his eyes changed shape!”

Gaster glanced at his older sons; Sans and Red both gave him a decisive nod, surety in their sockets. Stretch had picked up his little brother and was standing besides Slim. Blue was leaning over and patting Black on the back, babbling worriedly. Black was firmly attached to Slim, holding tight to his hoodie and pressing his head into the larger skeletons shoulder. Tears were still rolling down his cheek, but his sobs had turned into occasional hiccups. 

“Where do you think he went?” Papyrus tugged on Edge’s arm, sockets wide. “What if he’s  _ invisible?!”  _

“He could be ANYWHERE!” Edge threw his arms up, red eyelights bright. 

“Well, he’s not in here,” Gaster bent down and gathered the two up in his arms, “but we’ll need to keep an eye socket out for him.” He straightened with a groan, shifting the boys so they were supported on his hips, and looked at his elder children. “If any of you see him, you are to come and get me  _ immediately _ , understood?” 

They nodded, and Stretch gave a firm, “Sure thing, pops.” 

“I don’t think he’s dangerous,” Sans said, tapping on his skull in thought. “He said he just wanted to say ‘hi,’ and he kinda looked like Red, but older…” 

“Nah, he looked more like you! His teeth were all straight.” Red bared his fangs. 

“Maybe he’s from another universe,” Papyrus piped up, “One where we’re all grown up and, uh, artsy!” 

“That could very well be,” Gaster agreed, a line forming between his brows as he put on what his children affectionately called his ‘deep thinking face.’ “However, this Ink-Sans-Person shall have to visit us another day. Asgore should almost be finished cooking dinner, and after that we need to head home before it gets too late. Most of you have school tomorrow.” 

“Aw, dad, don’t remind us!” Red groaned, sagging dramatically against Sans. 

“Come now, smart skulls need school,” Gaster chided, herding them towards the door, ignoring the mess on the floor for tonight.

“Ughhhh,” Stretch agreed, slumping after Red. “No offense, Pops, but school bites.” 

“I very much take offense to that,” Gaster huffed, “You are enrolled in an excellent school, and I expect it to turn out only the smartest of skeletons.” 

“They’re just mad ‘cause Miss Jensen said to stop making puns during their poetry time,” Papyrus chimed in. “I like Miss Jensen!” 

Sans stuck his tongue out at his little brothers, who returned the gesture. Rolling his eyes, Gaster shut the playroom door behind them and ushered them towards the kitchen. “Really you tw - three. Stop that. School is important, it promotes strong critical thinking skills necessary for success in life.” 

“What kinda think can a couple of  _ numbskulls  _ like us do?” Red asked, gently pulling Sans and Stretch into a headlock under each arm. 

“He’s got a point, pops. There ain’t nothing between my ears.”

“He’s got a point, dad. Stretch doesn’t have the guts to lie to ya.” 

Blue reached up and batted at Red’s arm, huffing. “No p’n! No p’n!”

Torn between amusement and irritation from a long, emotional, life-changing day, Gaster used his hip to open the door that led to Asgore’s homey living area. “Honestly you - four.” He counted again in his head. Sans. Red. Stretch. “Three. You three. Cut it out. I want a nice, peaceful dinner before we head home.” 

“Yes dad.”

“Okay, pops.” 

“C’mon, let’s go see if Asgore has any mustard!”

“Ew, no, honey!” 

“Ketchup!”

“Bleh!” Blue made his distaste known with a retching sound as the three older children rushed ahead, down the hall and up the steps to the house proper, the baby bones bouncing in Stretch’s arm. Slim shuffled after them, cradling the half-asleep black to his chest. Trailing as the caboose, Gaster sighed and hoped, not for the first time since he’d built the machine, that it would be a quiet night. 

“Paps,” Edge leaned around their father a bit, eyes sparkling, red dusting his cheeks in excitement. “Do you think if there’s an Ink-Sans-Person, there’s an  _ Ink-Papyrus-Person _ ?” 

“GASP! OH MY GOSH!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course he's gone! Haven't you ever heard of...disappearing ink? *jazz hands*
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter, loves. I have been hit with a super bad cold/flu/something that has both my head and stomach in knots, so part of this was written under the influence of cold medicine. I hope y'all enjoyed it! From here on out, there will be many chapters of firsts, learning the origins of different habits of our favorite skelebabies, and many more universes popping up to say hello!
> 
> If you would like to donate a cup of coffee to our poor, tired Papa Gaster, I have a Kofi account here: [ Coffee for Tired Skeletons Trying to Parent ](https://ko-fi.com/rivethart)
> 
> Next chapter: Settling in with eight (8! How did he end up with EIGHT children in less than a year?) children, a trip to Grillby's, and a birthday celebration, in a matter of speaking.


	6. Chapter 6

Their house in Snowdin, while lovely and quaint and more than serviceable, was nonetheless not meant to host a busy scientist, his two children, and the six copies of said children from various abusive universes. Luckily, he was a scientist with standards, and access to dimensional pocket technology - the same type of tech that allowed monsters to store items in their phones. It was the work of mere hours to apply the tech to the upstairs bedroom, extending it beyond reasonable measure without destroying the outer integrity of the house, creating what the boys affectionately came to call the Den.

It was a fitting name. Once he’d gotten the room put together, and added in all the toys, books, and clothes, it looked like a cave for wild dogs. The boys liked to sleep together in a tangle of bones, so he put an Asgore-sized mattress (the king had happily handed over one of the extra mattresses he had in storage, left from when him and Toriel had still been married. They’d apparently had many extras made due to their time in the bedroom becoming...heated. Literally.) into the corner of the room, against the wall that bordered his own room. This would ensure he heard any late-night whimpers or tears, and allow him to assist with the myriad of nightmares the boys had. The bed was covered in large, fluffy blankets and quilts, and had twice as many pillows as children sleeping it it. A veritable mountain of stuffed animals was perched in the corner, threatening an avalanche at the first sneeze of a sleeping babybones. 

The rest of the room was a chaotic mix of mess and order, depending on who had last been playing with the toys or reading the books. Papyrus, Edge, and Blue (even with his limited mobility at 2 years old) were nearly neurotically tidy, always cleaning up after themselves, from putting up books (in alphabetical order), or washing and drying their paint brushes with clinical precision. Sans, Red, and Stretch let the chips (and books and blocks and stuffed animals and game pieces and snack wrappers) fall where they may, most often near the piles of plush beanbags and pillows where they liked to recline and read. 

Not that the boys spent a lot of time in their room during the week. Slim and Stretch, the oldest of them at ten years old, were still much too young to watch over their younger siblings. This meant that after school, the children descended on the royal castle to spend the afternoon with their favorite uncle. Gaster tried to find a babysitter for Black and Blue, only to be rebuffed by Asgore (who was enjoying having children to care for far too much, but the doctor was not about to begrudge a grieving parent the opportunity). The two were still young enough - Black was one, Blue was two - that they took afternoon naps, allowing the king to get whatever royal work done that was needed. The babes would sleep until their older brothers arrived, stampeding into the playroom with shouts of freedom and puns and shrill reminders that they had homework to do before they played. In the evening Gaster would take the elevator near the CORE to the castle and, more often than not, spend the evening with Asgore, reminiscing and eating far too much for dinner. Asgore may not be able to make pies, but he was a brilliant chef with a deft hand for spices. 

It was a simple, pleasant, satisfactory life. 

And, much to the astonishment of everyone involved, it would last. 

 

* * *

 

“Gaster, what are those?” 

The scientist beamed at his oldest friend, cracked eye sockets wrinkling at the edges (as much as magical malleable bone could crinkle, anyway), and ushered the four children into the booth. 

“These are my sons! You know Sans and Papyrus, of course…”

“‘Sup, Grillbs?”

“Hi Mr. Grillby!” 

“And these are my newest sons. Red-” A tip of the head from the quiet, rounded skull, “-and Edge.” 

“Hello Mr. Grillby! Why aren’t you purple?” 

  
  


* * *

 

“...Gaster, why do you need a larger table?” 

“Well, Grillby, you know Sans-”

“Sup, Grills?” 

“-Papyrs-”

“Good afternoon Mr. Grillby!”

“-Red-”

“Heya, hot stuff.” 

“-and Edge-”

“Hello, sir.” 

“-but these two are new! This is Stretch-” 

“Heh, wasn’t expecting to meet somebody so  _ hot  _ tonight.” 

“-and Blue.” 

“Gbralglablllrrrrr!” 

 

* * *

 

“Y’know, I’m not sure whether I’m surprised or not.” 

“Ah, Grillby! It’s so good to see you, it has been a minute, hasn’t it?” 

“Hello, Gaster. Hello, Sans, Papyrus, Red, Edge, Stretch, Blue.” 

A veritable chorus of greetings echoed back. 

“And who are these two?” 

“Ah, yes, these are my sons, Slim,” a silent nod from a scarred, though relaxed, face, “and Black.” 

“HBLRUGHLRRRRRR!”

  
  


* * *

 

Saturdays were Grillby’s favorite. His restaurant was always busy on Saturdays, bustling with tourists and regulars alike as they enjoyed their weekend. It kept him on his toes, and oftentimes Fuku would come for the day to help him serve and make a little pocket money. He loved having his niece in the bar, it really brought a bit of a fresh life to the old place. Her glow was only ever dimmed by one family.

Gaster, and his brood of eight (eight! Goodness, Grillby could barely imagine having that many children himself) were a regular visitor. They arrived every Saturday around six, and took the same table very time - the large booth closest to the bar. There was always a mingle of happy chatter and excited shrieks when they arrived - Blue and Black, young as they were, couldn’t keep their delight at ‘Milkshake Night’ to themselves when they recognized the warm wooden walls of the bar. The happy cries always brought a smile to the other patrons, regulars and tourists alike. To Grillby however, it was seeing Gaster so happy and proud of his brood that made him smile. 

The orders were always the same - four orders of ‘burgs (with plenty of ketchup, mustard, honey, and BBQ sauce), two orders of spaghetti, and two orders of applesauce or cooked veggies, depending on what the youngest wanted that day. Gaster himself ordered whatever Black and Blue got, so they wouldn’t get jealous of their older brothers. At the end, there were always five milkshakes, with different flavors each week, one to split between each pair of brothers and one for the father. 

Once, Sans had innocently suggested that Gaster and Grillby share their milkshake, and the subsequent blushes and flustered hand waving had the brothers snickering. It was no secret Gaster held a torch for Grillby, and nobody who had ever been in Grillby’s on a Saturday night could deny that the bartender obviously returned the feeling. Both, however, were far too busy to pursue a relationship. That left them admiring each other from a distance. Though it was a well-known secret in Snowdin, neither of them thought anybody would try and push them into anything. 

They should have paid more attention to the boys sipping milkshakes in the booth. 

 

* * *

 

“This is our target!” Weilding a pencil like a baton, Papyrus smacked the piece of paper pinned to the wall, drawing attention to it. A stick figure with wild red flames for a head and wearing a bowtie had been painstakingly drawn, alongside a black stick figure with large holes for eyes and two lines on his face. Drawn between the two was a large, pink heart. 

His brothers nodded seriously, and behind them, sitting cross legged with Blue and Black in his lap, Asgore joined in. As hard as the king tried to school his features to match the skeletons severity, a smile still twitched along the edge of his muzzle. 

“Now, dad is  _ obviously  _ head-over-heels in love with Mr. Grillby!” Papyrus tapped his pencil against the heart a few times to make his point. “But they don’t do anything people in love do. So we need to help them know that they are in love with each other!” 

“Uh, bro, I’m pretty sure they already know,” Sans pointed out gently. Beside him, Red began to snicker, leading the older Sans to elbow him not-so-gently in the side.

“Then why don’t they kiss?” Papyrus demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Or hold hands or go on dates or make smoochy faces at each other?” 

“They don’t have time,” Stretch pointed out. “Grillb’s is running his bar, and Dad has us,” he motioned at the gathered skeletons, “to take care of. 

Papyrus pouted and looked at Asgore, who met his gaze with a soft smile. “I’m certain I could help babysit for a date night or two a week,” he offered, and the baby bones lit up. 

“Excellent! Now, we just need to figure out how to get them together!” He tapped the picture with his pencil again, poking a hole in Gaster’s stick-hand with his enthusiasm.

“Isn’t pops planning a big surprise party for us next week?” Stretch asked, a lazy grin on his face. Edge gently swatted him with his hand.

“Shhhhh! We aren’t supposed to know about that!” He whispered, glancing behind them at Asgore, who was now grinning out right. 

“It’s okay,” he reassured his charges, “I won’t tell Gaster that you know.” 

“Good!” Edge folded his arms and scowled. “Daddy’s not good at keeping secrets, but I want him to be happy and think he surprised us!” 

“I getcha, bro,” Stretch draped an arm around Edge and tugged him close, “But do you remember where the party is going to be?” 

“At Grillbys.”

Stretch tapped the stretch of bone beside his nasal cavity. “Exactly. Now, here’s what I’m thinking…”

  
  


* * *

 

 

“Daddy, why are we going to Grillby’s? Isn’t it closed on Sundays?” Papyrus tugged on his father's sleeve as they shlucked through the snow, lifting his boots high to avoid filling them with snow. A storm had passed through the night before, leaving a good extra foot of flurries on the normally trampled Snowdin snow. 

“Grillby asked for my help with something, and I didn’t want to leave you all home alone.” Gaster explained, glancing behind at the row of following skeletons. They were all bundled up and trundling through the snow, leaving a furrow in their wake, like ducklings on a weed-choked pond. 

“C’mon, pops, I’m old enough to look after everybody!” Stretch hook an arm around Slim’s neck and pulled him close. “We both are! Don’t you trust us to babysit?” 

“Of course I do,” Gaster sounded anything but certain, “but I thought you would want to see Grillby. Perhaps he will make us some milkshakes, despite it being his day off.” 

“Mik-sake!” Blue cheered from Sans arms. Beside him, cuddled against Red, Black gnawed on his fingers and watched his counterpart. Despite all their efforts, none of the brothers had gotten Black to speak; he simply wasn’t interested (or able) to communicate verbally with them. He preferred pointing and growling instead.

Chuckling at the littles enthusiasm, Gaster stopped before the door to Grillby’s. “Make sure you stomp the snow off your boots,” he instructed his children as he opened the door and ushered them in. 

“Uh, the lights aren’t on, Pops,” Stretch knocked his sneakers against the edge of the door frame as he entered. “Are you sure Grillb’s is in?” 

“Quite sure,” Gaster gently steered him and the others into the room. They had been there often enough it was easy to navigate past the tables and chairs without light. The door swung shut behind them, plunging the room into near-total darkness. 

Blue barely had time to whimper in alarm before all the candles and lanterns in the room jumped to life, along with a loud, boisterous shout of “SURPRISE!!” from behind the bar. Grillby and Asgore were there, the latter wearing a comically small party hat between his horns, flanked by a few other monsters. Gerson, who sometimes tutored the boys in Monster History when he was visiting the castle, was leaning heavily on his cane and chuckling, another party hat slipping across his brow. Fuku, Grillby’s niece, was standing beside her uncle, flames flickering brightly with excitement. And there, in front of the bar…

“NGAAAAAAA! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PUNKS!” 

A spunky little fish-girl with bright red hair gathered in a ponytail dove at the gathered skeletons, most of whom dove behind their father, familiar with her brand of affection. Papyrus and Edge, who had been heading the back, weren’t as lucky and quickly found themselves in a dual headlock, struggling and insisting there be no ‘birthday noogies!’

By the bar, a little yellow lizard twiddled with her claws, dressed in a festive pink dress and a bow tied to one of her horns. Sans, once certain he was safe from the whirlwind that was Undyne, darted out from behind his dad and hurried to her side.

“Hey Alphys,” he spoke in a calm voice, knowing how nervous the lizard got when there were lots of people around. In his arms, Blue made a happy trill and reached out to the shy monster. The lizard’s shyness fell away like leaves from a dying tree, and she happily held her arms out to accept the baby.

“Hi Blue,” she greeted him softly, bouncing him in her arms. Sans grinned as Red wandered over, avoiding the spontaneous wrestling match that had erupted in the middle of the room. 

“Hey, Spikes,” he nodded to her. “Surprised to see you out of Hotland.” 

“Out Hotland!” Blue agreed, “In Snowdin!” He patted her snout. “Good friend visit!” 

“Heh, got that right, Blue,” Sans nudged Alphys with his shoulder, “Alphie is the best friend.”

“W-w-well I don’t kn-know about t-t-that,” the lizard blushed bright red, the scales on her face heating up, and Blue curiously began poking her cheeks. 

“Wa-ha-ha! Don’t let her fool you, boys, she’s a great friend!” Gerson had stumped around the bar and was beside them now, squinting at them through his one good eye. “Shy as a shrinking violet, but smarter than most monsters I know. She’s a good one to be around, wahaha!”

“Heck yeah she is!” Undyne joined them, dragging Papyrus and Edge with her. The rest of the skeletons followed, Gaster looking a bit ruffled from having to break up the wrestling match before someone destroyed one of the nearby chairs. 

“Goodness, this was quite the start,” Asgore was beaming as he pushed a stack of paper cone party hats across the bar. “Happy birthday, boys. I do hope you’ve had a good day!” 

Edge grabbed the stack of hats (having to stand on his tip-toes to do so) and began handing them out to his brothers. “Yes sir! We had hot cocoa with breakfast and played in the snow and Stretch and I built a biiiiiig fort but then Stretch fell asleep on top of it so Red and Blue managed to overtake us but that’s okay, Red didn’t shove snow down my jacket this time! Daddy, lean down, you need a party hat too!” 

With a long-suffering yet fond expression the adults in the room were well familiar with, Gaster bent over and allowed Edge to place a brightly colored cone on his head, the elastic resting tight beneath his chin. The young skelly beamed before slipping the last hat on his own head.

“Let’s party!” 

 

* * *

 

And party they did. There were games first - Pin-the-Tail on the Temmie, balloon volleyball, an egg and spoon race (with hard-boiled and brightly colored eggs), and a tug-of-war between the older boys and the younger boys, Undyne, and Alphys. The younger boys won, of course, and the older boys made sure to play up their defeat appropriately. Grillby revealed a pinata shaped like a small, white dog, and each child took turns wacking it with summoned bones (or spears, in Undyne’s case. Alphys quietly sat out, sipping a juice box and watching the festivities as she recovered from the tug-of-war battle.). Once the kids had been appropriately showered in candy, Asgore suggested it was time for cake and presents. 

The cake was bone-shaped, and long enough that each boy had room to blow out a candle proclaiming their age. Grillby was incredibly proud of it (there was still icing clinging to the edge of his apron), and he beamed when the children exclaimed over the frosting and design. The boys managed to blow out the candles, and with a few deft maneuvers of magic Gaster had it neatly sliced and plated. They dug in, and there were many cute photos of messy-faced children added to their fathers growing collection on his phone. Before the sugar rush could hit, the adults gathered the eight boys into a circle around the large table in the middle of the room for presents. 

“Now then, since I’m not sure the floor of your room could hold up under many more toys, you’ve each gotten one present,” Gaster explained as he set a single, neatly-wrapped box of varying sizes in front of each child. Alphys and Undyne squeezed in beside their friends (Papyrus and Sans, respectively) and watched eagerly as the boys took turns opening their gifts.

After a bit of back and forth, it was decided they would go youngest to oldest. Black (who was pouting in a high chair between Slim and Red) was handed the small wrapped box by his brother. He turned it over in his small hands for a moment, before ripping into the glossy black paper with his little fangs. He shredded the paper - and part of the box - to reveal a small, purple plushie in the shape of a whale. Tiny fingers explored the soft surface, and when he squeezed it a small, tinkling tune played from the whales mouth. It was the same tune Gaster hummed when putting him to sleep at night. Large eyes brimming with what were certainly not tears, but liquid happiness and contentment, Black hugged the whale to his chest and settle back in his highchair, curling up around the new toy. There were a few ‘awwws’ and several pictures added to four different phones at the sight. 

Blue was next, and he tackled his toy with his usual, careful gusto. The paper was quickly but neatly pulled off the box, folded, and set aside. With clever fingers he peeled off the tape on the plain, cardboard box and popped open the top, only to squeal in excitement as what he saw. A beautiful, clear top filled with wires and electrodes and other doo-dads was pulled out, and he shoved the box into his brothers hand so he could spin it on the high chair tray. As soon as it was moving it lit up, flashing through every color of the rainbow in a random pattern, and casting light beneath it. Blue let out a shriek and spun it again, and again, and again, until Stretch gently reminded him that it was Papyrus’ turn to open his present. He clapped his hands down on top of the toy and gave a firm nod, turning to look at the next brother in line with a large grin, just as excited for his siblings as for himself. 

Papyrus was dainty with his unwrapping, gently pulling a book from it’s paper sleeve. “Wowie!” He whispered, sockets large, “Lookit!  1001 Puzzling Contraptions for the Distinguished Puzzler !” A small box of pencils was taped to the front of the puzzle book, each one a different bright color. “Thank you daddy!” 

Beside him, Edge wiggled in his seat, tapping the table top with his sharp phalanges. “You’re turn, Edge,” Papyrus encouraged him, setting his book down and turning his attention to his twin. With a sharp grin, Edge ripped apart the paper covering his own gift. Luckily he hadn’t gotten a book, or his claws would have torn it up as well. Instead there was a metal figurine of a skeleton warrior (that looked a bit like Edge himself, he liked to think) wearing jagged black armor and holding a bone-like sword. He gave a soft gasp and set the figure gently on the table, adjusting his feet so it could stand on its own.   
“Look, look!” He poked Papyrus. “It’s like yours! Now we can play skeleton warriors together!” The two giggled in delight, mischief and wonder in their sockets as they thought of the adventures they could have.

“Welp, guess it’s my turn,” Red sighed, reaching out to take long, cylindrical package in front of him. He pulled off the ribbon wrapped around the middle and tore it open at one end. Using his claws, he pulled out a large sheet of paper. The paper unfurled, and he stared at the expanse of white facing him. “The funk…?” 

“Turn it around,” Stretch snickered, “you’re looking at the back.” 

With a huff Red did so, and felt his jaw drop. It was a glossy poster depicting at least twenty different types of motorcycles, each printed in high definition and surrounded by their names and statistics. He glanced up at his dad, who was beaming with pride. “How did you find  _ this  _ down here?” He asked, jaw agape. 

“It wasn’t easy,” Gaster confided, sounding a bit smug despite the difficulty of putting the gift together, “but it was worth it to see you smile.” 

Still smiling (grinning like an idiot, Stretch would later chime in when they spoke about their gifts that night at Asgore’s house), Red carefully rolled the poster back up and tucked it back into the tube so it wouldn’t get damaged. “You’re turn, Smiley.” 

“Eh, I don’t really need anything,” Sans still pulled his gift over, ripping along one side of the rectangle and pulling off the paper in one quick move, “but I -  _ WHOA! _ ” The large, hardback book fell open on the table, revealing full-color pictures of the galaxy and stars, twisting dots of light in a purple-red-blue nether. Every skeleton at the table was immediately standing on tip-toes, staring at the pages with open awe. Slowly, Sans began to flip through them, revealing pictures of not only stars but planets, comets, and satellites. 

“Dude,” Stretch held out his still-wrapped gift, “Trade ya.” 

Sans laughed, but it was an odd, still-stunned chuckle, the kind you make without recognizing it. He sat back down, slowly, fingers trailing over a page showing the different constellations in the northern hemisphere during the winter. Gaster rested a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Someday,” he spoke softly to those around him, “We will see them for real.” 

The moment held for a minute more, before Stretch began to noisily open his own gift. “Well then, let’s see what I got,” he announced, pulling off the ribbon and opening up his lumpy gift. A rainbow waterfall of suckers scatter across the table, followed by several small dark yellow bars wrapped in cellophane. A sparkly purple card was taped to one of the bars. “Huh. It’s like you guys think I like sweets or something,” Stretch chuckled as he began raking the candy back towards himself, helped by his brothers rolling the suckers towards him. He picked up one of the bars. “What’re these?” 

“Honey bars,” Gaster answered, and chuckled when Stretch immediately tore off part of the cellophane and bit into it. He made a happy humming noise, dramatically melting into his seat, large grin on his face. “You should also look at the card,” he nodded at the purple paper stuck to one of the honey bars.

Stretch plucked it off the candy and read it for the benefit of his curious brothers. “This card entitles Stretch Fons to one piece of candy from Muffet’s Bakery and Sweets Shop every Friday for the next year.” His eye lights grew wide and he gaped at his father. “Really?!” 

“Really,” Gaster nodded, summoning a few hands to gather up the last of the stray suckers and set them in a pile in front of Stretch, “As long as you are brushing your teeth twice a day.” 

“Heck, for this, Pops, I’d be willing to do it  _ three  _ times a day!” Stretch swept all the candy back onto the wrapping paper and folded it up, before sticking the sugar in his hoodie pocket, aside from the honey bar he was still munching on. He turned and grinned at the tallest of the skelly sons. “Okay, Slim, your turn.” 

Much like his brother, Slim rarely said anything when the circumstances allowed it; silence was his natural state. He picked up the heavy rectangle he’d been given and raked his claws along the ribbon, slicing it neatly in two, then tore off the paper to reveal a slim wooden box and a notebook. Setting the notebook to the side, he flipped open the latches on the front of the box and threw it open so his eager brothers could see what he’d gotten.

It was an art set, complete with oil pastels, paints, brushes, and colored pencils. As his brothers oo-ed and aw-ed over the collection, he glanced at Gaster in confusion. The older skeleton smiled softly, eye sockets genteling at the edges, and leaned forward to explain. “Your teachers have told me you enjoy doodling, and I’ve seen what you’ve made when you’re drawing with your brothers. You have great potential as an artist, Slim. And here, you’re safe to explore it.” Slim still looked a bit nervous, so Gaster stood back up right and shrugged, “And if you don’t like it, you can explore other things, and give your art supplies to your little brothers.” He tilted his head towards Papyrus and Edge, who were salivating at the sight of the oil pastels.

“Heh, okay,” Slim smiled, gently running a finger along one side of the wooden case. “Thanks.” 

“Wonderful!” Asgore clapped his hands, making all the children jump. “Now, I believe it is time for our gift!” He wrapped an arm around Gerson’s shoulder and beamed at Gaster and the boys.

“Uh, wait, I thought I said - “ 

Asgore waved off Gaster, who looked a bit flustered (he was not a fan of charity, not when he was one of the best-paid Monsters in the Underground, and had insisted Asgore not get the boys any gifts). “Nonsense, this is something that costs nothing at all!” He declared. The boys wiggled in their seats, several with knowing gleams in their eyelights, and Gaster felt a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. What was going on?

“Now, since these fine boys - and ladies,” he winked at the two, and Undyne looked mildly insulted at being called a ‘lady’ to her face, “don’t seem ready to end the party, we shall simply have to move it to my home for the night.” 

“The night?” Gaster asked, as the boys all got up from their seats, gathering their gifts and the younger two from their high chairs, and lining up beside Asgore and Gerson. 

“Why yes, I think a sleepover is a splendid idea, and a wonderful gift for such wonderful boys, and their friends.” Without waiting for Gaster to say a word, he began herding them towards the doors. “Fuku, my dear, would you like to accompany us back to Hotland? You do have school tomorrow, if I recall.” The fire elemental, having been warned of their plan, already had her jacket on. Grillby gave her an odd look, but Fuku just giggled and hugged him tightly.

“Goodnight, Uncle. Enjoy your evening!” She raced after the children, Gerson, and Asgore, who was ushering them out into the snow. Gaster, still slightly confused, began to follow, only to be blocked by the king. 

“Goodness, Gaster, you look exhausted.” The goat monster steered the scientist back to the bar. “Why don’t you rest here and have a drink, hm? I’ll take good care of the boys for tonight.” Again, without waiting for a response, he backed towards the front door, where all the little skeletons were grinning knowingly in the snow. “See you tomorrow evening for dinner!” With that, Asgore was gone, the door was closed, and Gaster was left sitting across from Grillby, who looked equally baffled.

“I believe,” the bartender said, after a long moment of awkward silence, “that we have been set up on a date.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday boys! And happy birthday to me! I figured, what better time to post a birthday chapter then on my own birthday? (I didn't actually think that, it just worked out that way.) So, I hope you enjoyed their happy shenanigans, and I'm finally making good on that Grillster tag! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and if you would like to buy me a birthday coffee, or give poor, bewildered, suddenly-on-a-date Gaster or Grillby a coffee, i have Kofi ready and waiting here: [ Coffee for Tired Skeletons Trying to Parent ](https://ko-fi.com/rivethart)


End file.
